To Have And Hold
by ajsqdaway
Summary: EPILOGUE ADDED. An obsession with Martin results in his disappearance. Some Smarty. UNBETA'd - please point out boo-boos.
1. Chapter 1

TO HAVE AND HOLD by AJB

CHAPTER ONE

"_Don't lie to me!" Martin roared._

_Kim's eyes hovered within the sights of Martin's gun - soft, brown and pleading. "I just need a traveling companion. Someone to get lost with. I want it to be you," she pleaded. Her eyes wavered with tears never shed. He wanted to see remorse, he tried to see love, but instead saw a hard sorrow that only told him that her only regret was that of getting caught._

_She bolted. Martin gave chase, running thorough a warehouse of bloodied children and wasted drug addicts. He lost her, but the last line of light framing a closing door told him where to go._

_Martin pushed into the light and ran along an empty sidewalk. When he turned a corner, Samantha and Jack looked up in surprise._

"_Where'd she go?" he screamed._

_They only stared at him, surprised. Martin never paused in his pursuit as he pushed between them, running up behind Danny and Elena walking hand in hand. _

"_WHERE IS SHE?"_

_The two agents turned to him, smiling, and parted just enough for Martin to pass between them, physically splitting their connection. _

_Then he was running in woods, dusty air choking him until he couldn't breathe. Only then he paused, gasping, and the assassin jumped from behind a tree, knocked the gun from his hand and started choking him. Martin fought back, kicking and punching, but the assassin just smiled darkly, unflustered, as his victim's vision tunneled dangerously. He managed to wrap his hands around his attacker's neck and squeezed hard, grunting with effort._

_They fell with Martin landing on top. Martin leaned into the choking hold, his face flushed and burning hot. Finally, the assassin's hold loosened and his lips turned vivid blue. Just as the assassins' eyes rolled back, his face shifted into that of Kim's. She was slick with bright red blood and her mouth opened in a silent scream. Martin released her in horror and found that he was suddenly on the ocean's floor, kicking off and trying to make it to the surface to breathe. He kicked harder, facing upward and seeing a wavering sky above._

_He knew it was too far. He wasn't going to make it . . . everything slowly turned crimson . . ._

Martin awoke fighting for air, drenched in sweat and his blood hotly racing. He sucked air through flared nostrils and gaping mouth, pressing his hands to his chest in hopes of keeping his heart intact; surely, the organ had hammered its way out through the old scars . . .

Panicked, he glanced down, frantically patting his chest. As he caught his wind, Martin's hands captured his attention - they throbbed in syncopation with his heart but were clean of blood. Gathering his wits and shattered nerves, he studied the back of his hands and slowly rolled his fingers into a fist. Pain. He uncurled his fingers and turned his hands palm up, finding eight reddened crescents branded into his palms. He studied them in surprise.

When his alarm clock abruptly warbled, Martin finally ripped his gaze from the self-inflicted wounds and slapped the clock into silence.

The apartment was quiet and dark – it was just before dawn and Martin remembered that he intended to run this morning, hoping the physical exertion would help him to . . . what? Concentrate? Deal? Slow his go-crazy rate? He shook his head to clear out the remaining fog.

With a snort of self-disgust, he wiped the line of cold sweat that trailed along his temple. When he turned to wipe his hand on his pillow, he noticed it was too damp to help. Instead, he plucked up a section of the sheet to dry his hands.

What was wrong with him?

Throwing back the bedcovers, Martin twisted and set his feet on the floor, finally feeling the air's chill on his bare torso and legs. He'd slept nude for nearly a month now because any particle of clothing, even boxers, felt like they were strangling him into submission. He stood and shivered, welcoming the distraction.

The dream was getting more vivid as time passed. Shouldn't it be gone by now?

Martin was sure it would eventually fade but its persistence was beginning to cause worry. He had enough on his plate at the office with Danny and Elena gone on a short honeymoon, Samantha adjusting to her new life changes and Jack – well, there was a man on a mission, to say the least. His boss' mission lately seemed to be holding him on the shortest leash possible and humiliating Martin of it at every opportunity; not that it was completely undeserved.

Heading to the bathroom, Martin scolded himself and restated the last. Jack had his own worries – a daughter he was trying to keep a hold on and a girlfriend he couldn't, working with a short crew, a bag full of cases and one screwed up subordinate. Martin sighed. He _was _screwed up, he admitted. All he needed was a little time and a little space but neither Jack nor the job was giving that to him.

There was no way to control the number of cases that came in but Jack's attitude was something else. There were times the man didn't seem to remember Martin was screwed up, times when his boss treated him like the trained agent he was, but those times had been rare in recent days.

Thank God for Vivian Johnson. She, at least, was the one sane, stable soul in the whole pile of them and Martin appreciated her steadiness. Sometimes he was sure she physically planted her body between him and Jack like a shield. It was irritating, but he wasn't about to snap at the only serene spot in the office.

Donning his running gear without thought of matching or even cleanliness – whatever his hand touched he pulled on - explained the stained Knicks tee and worn academy sweats over shorts of dubious origin, the tags and sportswear logo long worn down to either an unreadable or a nonexistent state. His socks didn't match but they were close enough because his old Nike friends would cover them up, anyway.

Martin chugged some water and ran damp fingers thorough unruly hair, momentarily distracted at the length it had become. Shaking his head in bewildered amazement at how time passed too quickly sometimes, Martin pulled open his apartment door and left it all behind for awhile.

* * *

As soon as he stepped from the elevator to the MPU floor of the Federal building, Martin felt the buzz in the air - something was up. He hadn't taken six steps before Samantha lurched from an office doorway, sharply changing course to miss him, juggling a jumbo cardboard coffee cup and several files.

"Martin!" she exclaimed, puffing a wayward strand of hair from her mouth. "Where have you been? Jack's about to blow a gasket."

His exercise-induced, sated mood vanished. "What?" He looked at his watch and felt his nerve endings tingle. "I'm a few minutes early."

"You haven't answered your phone."

"Phone?" Martin patted his pockets and realized he didn't even _have_ his phone. In fact, he couldn't recall where he saw it last. He slowed and checked his pockets again, completely stymied.

"Hey!" Samantha said sharply, yanking him from his dazed state. "You better pull it together pronto. We're stretched thin."

He felt her glare and finally met her stormy eyes. "Uh, yeah. Right."

They slowed to a stop. Samantha's eyes softened and she cocked her head. "Martin? You okay?"

He blinked at her then stuttered, "Y. . . yeah, yeah. I'm fine. I . . . I must have left my phone here."

Samantha rolled her eyes and stepped away, shaking her head. "Come on. Maybe you can sneak in and convince him you've been here all along." She shoved a file at him. "Phone records on our latest victim."

"Great," Martin muttered, following. He flipped open the file, but his mind was elsewhere. Where the hell was his cell and why didn't he miss it? He stopped by his desk and Samantha continued to the conference table.

The cold realization of where the phone was suddenly hit him at the same time he noticed his boss - his obviously agitated boss - striding purposefully down the hall with a dark glare centered right between Martin's eyes. Martin gulped, his throat instantly dry. He ducked his head as if studying the file in his hand and unconsciously shifted his stance to keep his gun side away from Jack as the man marched his way into the bullpen.

Malone stopped just inside Martin's personal space and the intrusion was enough to cause him to raise his eyes enough to meet Jack's. If looks could bore holes, the buildings across the street would be clearly visible through Martin's skull. Jack didn't say anything for a few, very charged moments. In Martin's peripheral vision, it seemed that the entire office froze.

Finally, Malone growled just loud enough for Martin's ears. "My office. Now."

Jack turned and stalked off. Martin took a moment to put the file down and rub his forehead before following. Now he knew what the term "dead man walking" really felt like. He worked to hold his chin up and gave Vivian a weak smile as she passed him in the hall. Martin read pity in her expression and hoped it wasn't for him.

When he pushed open the glass door to Malone's office, Jack was already settling in his chair and watching him closely. Martin slipped inside and paused long enough to run his fingers down his tie before sitting in one of the chairs facing his boss. He let out a tight breath of air he hadn't realized he was holding and then met Jack's stare.

"You look like shit." Jack's voice was flat and hard.

Martin chose to stay silent. He clasped his hands together in his lap but refused to drop his eyes. Percolating sweat tickled his hairline. His teeth squeaked as he clenched his jaws, waiting for a question.

"Do you know where your phone is?"

That wasn't the question Martin wanted to hear. It took a moment, but Martin realized that Jack knew _exactly_ where the phone in question was, so there was no point in dancing around the subject. "I, um, think I left it at the Longshot."

Jack reached into his jacket pocket and tossed the wayward phone on his desk. It was well out of Martin's reach so he refrained from retrieving it.

"Thanks to a guy named Toby who likes Molson's for breakfast, your phone was returned to reception. He asked for enough reward to cover a six-pack, pre-lunch appetizer. You owe me ten bucks. It was all I had."

A few beats of silence pulsed by before Martin said, "Oh." He leaned forward for access to his wallet, pulled it free and fumbled to separate a $10 bill. He laid the money on the desk as he returned the wallet to his pocket.

Jack leaned back in his chair the entire time, silently evaluating. Martin clearly pictured the check-box list his boss followed with his visual, head-to-toe examination, hard pressed to subdue a need to squirm.

Jack took in the too-wide eyes reminiscent of the proverbial deer-in-the-headlights, pale complexion and flat-planed cheeks crowned by charcoal sashes and the way Martin's tense fingers unconsciously twitched as he maneuvered the wallet. Martin's neck swam in his shirt collar in the same way it did when he had returned to work after the Dornvald shooting - a shooting where, in Jack's opinion, he'd returned to work much too soon. Thinking back through the last few weeks, he didn't see any signs of reoccurring addiction, so Jack's initial fury dissolved to a reasonable level of anger.

He knew Martin's professionalism and work ethic. In fact, if not for Martin's loyalty to him, their roles would be reversed right now. Jack wondered if Martin _had_ accepted Medina's "promotion" if this agent would be in this shape at this time. And, admittedly, that Kim Marcus thing was quite a bit more than the usual girlfriend-discovered-cheating scenario.

So, although red flags fluttered everywhere in his head, Jack chose to ignore them for the time being. Even though the capable agent he knew wasn't the one sitting before him at this moment, there were missing people that depended on this team and Jack needed Martin.

Jack leaned forward, planting his elbows on his desk as he steepled his fingers and tapped them against his upper lip before speaking. "My first inclination is to send you home but I don't have that luxury right now. You need to pull yourself together, _Agent_ Fitzgerald, and get to work." He shoved the cell phone within Martin's reach and took the cash. "You will stay in this office. You will not go into the field today, or as I said before, until you have my permission. You do not leave for the day until I tell you to go. You check in with me the second you arrive at work each day. Do you understand?"

Martin chewed his lips as listened, nodded, and choked out a raspy, "Yes, sir," before retrieving his phone.

Jack did not see any speck of relief in the young man's face and didn't expect to; Martin Fitzgerald knew full well that he was responsible for his own short leash and Jack was satisfied the agent would get back on track eventually. Whatever Martin was dealing with was just a complicated bump in the road and Jack was very familiar with those kinds of obstacles. They seemed to be a continual presence in his life, too.

"Get to work."

Martin nodded and shot to his feet. He hesitated a moment as if he was going to speak, but then just ducked his head and left the glass cubicle. Jack watched him depart, pursed his lips in thought and then moved on to the case in hand.

CHAPTER TWO

The day dragged painfully onward even though Martin was busy. The current missing subject, Mia Swenson, seemed to be a typical 18-year-old texting champion with enough cell phone records to wallpaper the Taj Mahal. She was last seen at a huge party attended by other texting champions and Martin had the paperwork to prove it. By eleven, he'd decided to simply tag any daughter he ever had with a subcutaneous GPS device at birth. By noon, he considered self surgery with his letter opener to excise the throbbing in his temples and by three, he wondered if slamming his fingers in the door would be enough to distract him from the pain in his head.

Viv and Sam were in and out of the building all day and at one point, one of them dropped an egg salad sandwich and coffee on his desk. Viv, Martin figured; she'd been giving him that narrowed-eye, evaluating look for the past few hours whenever she breezed through with more information. Martin finally ate the offering with a thought of thanks a little before four.

The food must have powered his brain because around four-ten, a number popped out on the reams of paper representing the last month of Mia's calls. Martin traced it to a person named B. Collins, and Vivian pulled a fact from an early interview about a Barry Collins leaving a phone message for Mia about a month ago.

"So who's Barry Collins?" Jack growled.

Sam contacted Mia's mother once again and the woman finally thought it time to mention that she had been pregnant with Mia when she married the man that Mia thought was her father.

"When was she planning to tell us Barry Collins was Mia's biological father?" Vivian snapped in the conference room. "What's wrong with these people?"

A couple of phone calls to the local police in Mr. Collins' city confirmed that she was with her bio-dad, meeting him for the first time without mom's knowledge.

"Another happy ending," Samantha growled, checking her watch. "I've got to go."

"We seem to have a lull at the moment," Jack said. "Take off, troops. Make it a long weekend."

Viv rolled her eyes after looking at the clock and noting that it was fifteen minutes until quitting time. "How benevolent of you," she said drily. "Oh, how will I spend the time?"

"Get out of here before I change my mind," Jack replied. "Reports on my desk by noon, Monday."

"Danny and Elena will be back," Viv reminded them. "Be prepared to pester them with overly inquisitive questions."

"Well, there's something to look forward to." Samantha hurriedly slung her purse over her shoulder and turned to go, but paused when her eyes found Martin. After a moment, he noticed her stare and looked up. Sam frowned. "Get some sleep, Martin."

"Yes, mom," he replied huskily.

Sam snorted and departed. Viv gave him a considering look then departed a few seconds later. Martin tiredly pushed to his feet and gathered his jacket, trying to ignore the fact that Jack was still there and looking at him. Again.

"Avoid the Longshot for a while," Jack finally growled as Martin shrugged his jacket on.

"Yes, sir. Can I go now?" Martin tried hard not to sound like a petulant fifth grader, but he was sure he failed.

"See you Monday. Viv and Sam are on call. Take care of yourself, will ya?" Jack almost sounded concerned, Martin thought.

"Sure. See you then." Martin walked out feeling immensely tired and managed to flag down a cab in an unusually rapid fashion. During the ride home, he decided to go running again so he wouldn't fall asleep too early and, therefore, wake up too early. He also hoped it would make him tired enough to sleep through the night without waking. Simple goals, really, but recently, ones proven difficult to obtain.

It was a gargantuan effort to avoid the couch and change into his running gear once he got home. He again dragged on the first things he found and noticed that they still had the pungent odor of his last run which produced the random thought that, wearing this, he could easily fit in with the homeless crowd. That idea produced his first chuckle of the day. Good thing Saturday was laundry night.

Giving the couch a longing look as he headed to the door, Martin noticed that his headache was finally fading.

"_Maybe I'm just allergic to work,"_ he thought with an amused snort. Snatching his car keys from the counter, Martin headed out the door.

* * *

"Where the hell is Martin?" Danny groused as he dropped onto his chair. "He always brings donuts on Monday. And where's the coffee?"

"Are you whining? I endured enough whining over the weekend from Reggie, thank you." Viv settled into a bullpen chair in a more queenly fashion.

Danny twirled the chair around to face his senior partner. "That's easy for you to say. You have coffee."

Viv smiled. "That's because I'm a grown-up that can take care of herself."

His rebuttal stalled with the sight of Samantha striding down the hall with four large, logo'd coffee cups in hand. By the time she dropped one off in Jack's empty office, Elena appeared behind her with her own cup and a satisfied expression. When the pair turned into the bullpen Danny broke into a dazzling smile and extended a hand. "Agent Spade, you're an angel!"

Sam's course eked around Danny's chair and stopped by Martin's desk where she carefully set down the cardboard tray and plucked out a cup. "Here," she said, turning to Danny and handing off the cup to his grateful grasp. "You know better than to upset the balance of the coffee tray." She threw the cardboard tray away and sank into a chair near Vivian with a tired sigh. Elena wandered over to Danny's desk and stood beside him, smiling sweetly.

After Danny swallowed his first sip, he whined again. "No doughnuts?"

"Get your own sustenance, Agent Taylor. You're lucky to get the coffee. I ran late again," Sam grumbled. She took an appreciative sip in the relaxed silence and looked around. "But not as late as others. Where's Martin? And Jack?"

Elena's gaze flicked to Jack's office and back. "Thankfully, not here to see your tardiness."

Danny grinned lopsidedly. "I know Elena has an excuse for being tired this morning, but what about you, Sam?"

"I hate newlyweds," Sam muttered into her coffee.

"Hm," Viv hummed as she sipped from her cup. "You should know better than to speak to her before her first cup, Danny." Elena chuckled as she swayed sideways and hitched her hip on the corner of Danny's desk.

Danny smirked. "I'll cut her a break only because she brought me this." He indicated the coffee. "What about Martin and Jack? Maybe they're having their coffee together? A little bonding session?" He waggled his eyebrows

Sam choked on her drink over the rude insinuation. "Danny, jeeze, thanks!" Vivian and Elena chuckled at the exchange.

"You're just trying to deflect our upcoming nosey questions," Vivian said knowingly, turning her chocolate gaze to Danny and his new wife. "We've come up with some good ones." The distant ding of the elevator caught her attention and she glanced down the hall. "Uh, oh. Martin's going to be in the doghouse again."

The others turned and saw Malone walking down the hall toward them holding a small paper cup. His face brightened visibly when he spied the bigger cup on his desk which was a cut above the brand he currently held. He pushed into his office, dropped the cheaper cup in the trash and picked up the fresh one before heading into the bullpen.

"Where's the doughnuts?" He asked brightly.

"That's what I wondered!" Danny said.

Sam rolled her eyes.

Jack look disappointed for a second then raised his cup. "Thanks," he said with a pointed look at Samantha. "My treat tomorrow."

"Martin's turn tomorrow. Don't mess with the system," Danny said. "And I know _he'll _bring doughnuts."

"Pfft!" Samantha snorted.

Meanwhile, Jack looked around. "He's not here yet?"

"Um," Vivian finally offered.

"Great," Jack snapped, instantly peeved. "Viv, Sam, your illustrious leader expects reports on his desk by noon." Jack carefully sipped his coffee as the others stared blankly at him. "I meant me," he growled.

"Oh," Sam uttered.

"'Illustrious'?" Vivian repeated with a soft snort as they got to work.

Jack retreated to his office, where there was a clear line of sight to the elevator, to lie in wait. Both Viv and Sam were finished with their reports by eleven thirty and gathered by Danny's desk.

"Has anyone heard from Martin?" Elena finally asked.

"I don't think so." Samantha said. She walked over to Martin's desk and glanced at his calendar. "Nothing here," she announced as he pulled out her cell phone. She hit a few buttons and listened. "Right to voicemail." Her phone closed with a snap.

The four of them put their heads together and came up with nothing. If Martin had any plans, he hadn't shared them. Their discussion sputtered to a stop when Jack approached them. They looked at him expectantly.

Jack stood at the end of the table, one hand holding a pen that tapped a rhythm on the opposite palm. When he saw that he had the team's attention, he spoke. "Martin's car was found in a parking lot. It had a ticket on it from last night for being in the lot after hours. Apparently, it's been there all night. They were getting ready to tow it when they noticed the registration."

"Which lot?" Samantha quickly asked.

"Off 86th, in the Park."

"He parks there when he runs a certain trail," Sam offered.

"None of you have heard from him?"

"I just called and it went right to voicemail." Samantha voice had a tight edge.

Danny stood and retrieved his jacket and the others moved to follow.

"Danny, you and Sam check his apartment. Viv, check the car. Elena will do some follow up from here and I'll put the current case paperwork to bed. Get going."

* * *

Urgency dragged Martin's consciousness from some pillowy place to the unpleasant reality of distressed bodily demands. Vomit pushed upward, threatening to overflow. One hard swallow stopped the action – for the moment. A tight gasp, accented with another quick swallow was all he could manage to hold off the rising bile a second time before the throbbing in his head blossomed to a full and painful rhythm. He forced his eyelids to part and eventually stay apart – he thought. Everything was fuzzy.

Martin gulped again, focusing on keeping his stomach where it belonged while he sorted his wildly scattered thoughts. With his riotous gut somewhat under control, he blinked and bit back a gasp of pain. Had his head exploded when he wasn't paying attention? He squeezed his eyes shut again with hopes that things would change for the better.

"Oh, honey, you don't look very good."

A cool, soft hand gently stroked his cheek in an attempt to comfort. Instead, it confused.

"I have a basin here, sweetheart, in case your tummy's upset. I bet it is, huh?"

The words floated on a soothing tone and deep memory told him such words should make him feel better but the voice was wrong. He only thought about opening his eyes this time around.

"There, there. I'll take care of you, my love.

_Whose love? My love?_ Where the hell was he? There was a mental scramble to get his thoughts in line while keeping his body still because any movement prodded his fractious belly toward revolt. With a bit more time behind him, he carefully peeled his eyes open. Slowly, the kaleidoscope ceiling rotated into focus. It was knotty pine. It wasn't a ceiling he recognized. Martin swallowed hard again.

"I'll open the window a crack. Some fresh air will make you feel better, don't you think, darling?"

_Darling?_ That sounded so – wrong. Sucking in a breath, he ever so slowly turned his head, narrowing his eyes with the pain of motion. A woman fussed with some lacy curtains for a moment and then moved to open the window, her back to him. She wore a flowered halter dress and had her long and wavy, dark hair held in a loose roll with a comb-clip. She was vaguely familiar . . .

Martin tried to sit up, only to get physically tugged back to the soft mattress. His couldn't move his arms. Lifting his shoulders as far as he could, he was horrified to see that sheep-skin padded restraints held him onto the bed where he reclined. A sun-colored coverlet draped across his otherwise naked body.

"Hey!" he yelped, headache forgotten. His stomach, though, could not be denied and it rolled threateningly with the rush of fear-infused adrenaline. He tugged frantically on the restraints but had to abandon his effort to turn aside when his stomach finally heaved.

Everything clicked into absurd place.

"Oh, Martin!" Felicity rushed to his side and thrust the basin under his mouth to catch the last of his sickness. She stroked his cheek. "Oh, baby, it's okay. I'll take good care of you, I promise. You know I will. I'll get you all cleaned up and everything will be all right."

His skin crawled where she kissed his cheek.

CHAPTER THREE

In spite of the lingering headache, Martin's brain finally engaged. The question of how he got here was his first puzzle to solve and he could still feel linger effects from whatever he'd been given as he tried to recall the previous . . . day? Days?

The last things the he remembered were two miserable nights trying to sleep and a parade of Kim-related dreams. He'd ended up in the Longshot again late Saturday night and tried to tire himself out by running in the park Sunday afternoon. After finishing his run, he recalled doing some warm-down stretches near his car but after that, nothing, until he saw Felicity Rickards at the window of this unknown room.

And as soon as he realized who she was, Martin knew he was in trouble.

Felicity was one of the nurses at the hospital where he'd recovered after being ambushed by Dornvald. He'd been pretty out of it at first but when he was finally on the road to recovery and able to focus, he noticed she always seemed to be there at his bedside - arriving early, leaving late and eventually hired as his in-home caretaker when he was first released.

When he'd finally worked through the pain enough to be able to really pay attention, Martin came to realize that something was off about the woman. After a time, she began to "suggest" what he should and shouldn't be doing, and whom he should or shouldn't be doing it with. When Felicity eventually made a disparaging remark to him regarding Samantha, he'd fired her.

After that, she'd showed up unannounced one too many times in public places and then the phone calls and letters started. Martin got a restraining order against her and called the local police one time when she blocked his car with hers one morning. He hadn't seen her since and he never told anyone about the situation. He hadn't seen or heard from her in nearly three years.

Martin thought the problem was solved, but apparently he was wrong. Scenes from the movie "Misery" flashed through his mind and his stomach fluttered. The only point in his favor at the moment was that most of the team had seen her at least once; it was only a matter of time before they sought her out. He hoped.

"Hi, sweetie!" Felicity swept into the room carrying a steamy bowl. "Well, you certainly look like you're feeling better."

"Felicity," Martin started, his voice sharp. "Let me go."

"Don't be silly, Martin. I'm doing you nothing but good, you know that." She set the bowl down and pulled a washcloth out, wringing soapy water from it. "I make you feel better and you know you need that right now. You weren't doing se well on your own, you know."

Martin jumped as she wiped down his neck and shoulders. "Stop it," he snapped. "Let me go!" He tugged on the restraints at his wrists, a feeling of dread starting in the pit of his gut.

"You need to be taken care of, love," she continued brightly, rinsing the cloth and returning to his body. She rubbed down one arm and then the other.

"Felicity," Martin tried again, keeping his voice level. "You're breaking the law keeping me here. You have to let me go."

"No, no, no," she said, her voice growing husky. The firm strokes of the cloth paused while she folded the lightweight coverlet down from his chest. When she started on his chest, her eyes fixed on the scattering of scars there. One hand gripped the cloth while the fingers of the other traced the puckered skin, transfixed.

The slightly reddened marks still bothered Martin. Physically they were numb to the touch, but emotionally they were still sensitive. He could ignore them for the most part but when he did notice them, he still felt a quick wash of fear. It had been too close. If he studied them any length of time, he always dreamed of gunfire afterward. Maybe that incident with Kim's assassin was dragging up the old along with the new

And now, as Felicity traced each inch of damaged tissue, Martin could feel the rest of his body tingle with growing apprehension.

"Don't," he rasped, trying to twist away. "Don't touch me!"

"You're so beautiful," she whispered, unaffected by his demand. "It's because of me that you're still beautiful, you know." She trailed her touch with the warm, wet cloth. "I kept you alive. I took care of you. I fulfilled your every need. I've been watching you and you need help, Martin. You haven't been sleeping, have you?"

She pushed the edge of the yellow sheet farther down his body, stopping at a perceived line between his hipbones. Even though the drape covered him from his hips downward, Martin never felt so exposed in his life as the flat of her hand slowly stroked downward from his chest, following the lines of damage.

"That cheap whore wasn't good for you anyway. She's definitely not worth losing sleep over."

He threw his body to one side as hard has he could, twisting out from under her hands. "Get away from me!" he yelled. "I said don't touch me!"

Felicity stumbled back a step, startled, blinking in surprise. Her face twisted from an enrapt stare to a furious glare.

"What's the matter with you?" Martin pulled at the restraints, unable to control his fear. "Let me go!"

Without a word, Felicity turned away and pulled the top drawer of a near by dresser. "It's that scar, isn't it? That killer hurt you again. And that surgeon . . . he could have done a better job but I did _my_ best." Her voice was flat and strong. "I need to help you. I can't stand back anymore when you're in so much pain. It's my job to keep you safe and get you back to where you were. For now, you need complete and total rest." Her voice muffled as she donned a cloth mask. Then she snapped on rubber gloves and reached back into the drawer. "You need to forget that Kim bitch. She was evil, Martin."

Martin's gut turned when she faced him again. She held a brown bottle and a cloth, unscrewing the top of the bottle as she spoke, her voice muffled from the mask.

"I don't want to do this, my love, but you give me no choice. You need to calm down and rest. You can't do that when those wounds still hurt you." She carefully dampened the cloth and resealed the bottle. "I'll help you. I have to finish my duties. When I'm done, you'll be all over that whore and the scars will be gone."

"Felicity," Martin started, forcing his body to still when he realized her intent to knock him out again. "Don't. Look, I'm calm now. I'm not in pain. Let's talk. Don't do this . . ."

She shook her head with a sad expression. "I don't want to do this either, my love."

"Then don't!" Martin shrank away as far as he could from her approach. "Stop this now before . . ."

"Shh, shh, my darling," Felicity crooned as she pressed the cloth over his mouth and nose. Martin fought as hard as he could, shaking his head violently and reigniting his headache, but she held the cloth firmly in place. "You'll feel much better when you wake up, sweetheart." Her voice sounded fuzzy and soft as blood roared in his ears.

Martin tried to hold his breath but Felicity was calm, strong and unyielding. It wasn't long before he felt his consciousness flee into darkness.

* * *

Viv peered in the window of Martin's car without touching the glass. At Jack's request, two NYPD officers stood by and checked the nearby area and now waited for Agent Johnson to direct them further.

The car was locked and appeared undamaged. They were lucky to be contacted before the vehicle was inventoried for towing - no one had been inside yet. As much as Viv wanted to get in there and search, she was afraid of disturbing any trace evidence like hairs or fibers. If it came down to it, she'd let the forensics team have first crack.

She quizzed a few runners as they returned to the lot and none of them reported seeing anything along the trail. Viv requested an NYPD equestrian unit to search the trail - the riders would have a higher point of view to see off the trail. For now, that was all she could do. If Martin became a case - and the idea of that shook her - there would be a more detailed foot search of the area. She made a note to come back here again to quiz runners at about the same time Martin would have been here. After confirming with Jack, she requested one NYPD unit stay with the car and talk with anyone that came by. She transferred a photo of Martin to the officer's phone.

All in all, Agent Johnson felt helpless and she didn't like that one bit. She wasn't alone in her feelings - Danny and Samantha felt much the same after their walk through of Martin's apartment.

The place wasn't as neat as usual - the bedclothes were rumpled, a few drawers were partially open and a pair of jeans was in a heap on the floor. The empty beer cans on the living room table and in the trash did not bode well. Danny felt a ping of disappointment about Martin's obvious fall from the wagon - he hoped that it was only booze and was relieved that the medicine cabinet was as bare as it should be. He feverently hoped that his friend's addiction wasn't the reason for his disappearance.

After a quick cursory exam, the pair split up and took a slower tour of inspection, careful not to touch anything. The entry doors looked unmolested as did all the windows, but then again, the apartment was on the ninth floor. A lack of messages on the phone didn't mean much but being unable to find his duty weapon or flat badge possibly did.

"Hey," Samantha called from the kitchen. "The coffee maker isn't set up to go."

Danny rounded the corner and entered the kitchen, his head cocked slightly aside in thought and a question in his eyes.

"He sets it the night before so it brews automatically." Danny rolled his eyes and Samantha frowned. "So he's a little AR about stuff. Added to the fact about his car, it means he probably wasn't here last night." She gave him a smug look.

"He wasn't here Sunday night, but he was here Saturday night. The laundry basket is empty." Danny looked slowly around as he spoke, looking for any more clues. "No t-shirt or briefs from yesterday. I know he did his laundry Saturday night because he told me about a woman he usually saw down there. It looks like he went out for a run yesterday afternoon and never came back home." Now it was Samantha's turn to give Danny a look. "What?" he asked, all innocence.

"What woman would do her laundry on a Saturday night?"

"A married one?"

"Martin was flirting with a married woman?" Surprisingly, Samantha felt an odd pang with that thought.

"Who said he was flirting? Is that what you expect from all of the male species?" Danny's crooked grin indicated he was more than willing to go off on that tangent. "And I didn't say she _was_ married, you just asked . . ."

Samantha threw up her hand in a "stop" motion. "Okay, okay. I withdraw my question. So our usually tidy, anal-retentive, has-no-dating-life, WASP-like partner did his laundry Saturday night. He went for a run sometime Sunday and never made it home." She rubbed her forehead hoping to hold off the growing headache. "We don't know if he stopped anywhere before going to the park, but apparently he got there and . . . never left?"

"Or he never got there, or left with someone else?"

"He knows there's no overnight parking so I doubt the second part. The first part would indicate someone with a plan?" Sam consulted her watch and then dug for her phone. "We need to know if the car runs. Maybe he left it there because it wouldn't start."

Danny chuffed as they turned toward the apartment door. "He babies that car like he does his coffee maker. Even takes it in on time for the 10,000 mile servicing. It starts."

"Viv?" Sam spoke into the phone. "Have you checked the car out yet? Do you know if it starts?" She paused to listen. "Uh - huh. So it's intact." She paused again. "All we can tell is that he left here sometime Sunday. We wondered if he left the car there because it wouldn't start, but that theory's blown." She listened again and nodded. "Okay." She pressed the phone closed. "The car's getting towed to the evidence yard for processing because Martin's now - ," she glanced at her watch. "- at least 20 hours missing. Jack finally called Victor."

"Glad that wasn't my chore," Danny muttered.

"None of his family have heard from him. We're convening at the office. Think we should try to find laundry lady?"

Danny smothered his slow grin, recalling his partner's uncharacteristically lewd description of the woman. "Don't think we can do much with what Martin told me."

Samantha's eyes narrowed with her glare. "Did he at least say what color her hair was?"

"Um," Danny started. "I'm not sure if he noticed she even had a head."

Samantha's hair swung as she shook her head and made a noise of disgust as she lead the way to the door. After exiting, Danny locked the front door, being careful not to touch the door knob out of sheer habit. They contacted the neighbors and left their cards instructing them to call if they saw Martin or anyone else enter or leave the apartment. When they left the building, they stopped at the manager's office and left their card with him, too.

Once in the confines of their car, Danny and Samantha had time to think. The gravity of what they were dealing with finally struck the - one of their own was missing. They rode in silence all the way to the office trying not to allow the dire possibilities to shanghai their imaginations. And with what they'd seen in the past, their imaginations had a lot to draw from.

Striding down the hall side by side from the elevator, Sam saw that Viv was already back. She nodded a silent greeting and was slightly taken aback to see Martin's photo stuck to the timeline board. Jack was writing information with a black dry erase marker and she heard a soft gasp at her side.

It was real after all. Samantha's stomach turned.

The slight hitch in their stride disappeared as they approached the stacks of paper on the conference table. Phone records and credit card records - standard stuff originating from a too familiar source. It was unnerving. Danny grabbed the phone numbers while Samantha took half of the credit card reports, shoving the other half over to Viv. Elena searched Martin's computer. There were murmurs of unease about prying into a co-worker's records, but as each hour passed with no contact from Martin, the feeling was replaced with respectful professionalism.

Danny was ready for a break when Jack called the agent into his office. His boss looked thoughtful as Danny sat. Jack seemed to take a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking.

"Did you notice anything . . . off about Martin's behavior lately?" Danny picked up on some hesitance in Jack's words.

Danny thought before answering. "Well, before Elena and I took our vacation he seemed a bit quiet, but then again I was a little busy at the time. Why?"

"Yeah, we've all been a little busy," Jack agreed. "And I think we missed something going on with Martin because of it. He hasn't looked well these past few weeks - since the shooting."

Danny didn't need to ask which shooting - he'd been there as Martin's backup when his friend had to shoot his own girlfriend. "You have to admit, that whole incident was pretty messed up. It had 'ugly' written all over it from the start."

"Yeah. True." Jack sat back and heavy in thought.

Danny wasn't going to beat around the bush. "Come on, Jack. Spill it. You didn't call me in here to ask if Martin was eating his vegetables. You want to know if I think he was using again?"

The corner of Jack's lips quirked. "Yeah, for starters."

"I don't think so. His apartment tells me he's been having a few drinks, though."

Jack nodded. "He left his cell phone at a bar the other night. Didn't even miss it until a bar patron turned it in the next day."

"Whoa." Danny's eyebrows rose and he leaned back into the chair. "I didn't think he was that bad."

"Me either. But now," Jack hesitated. "Now, I have to wonder if it's related somehow. He's gone downhill physically this past week, Danny. Lost weight, bags under his eyes, tired."

"Do you think he just took off?" Danny asked. "Do you think that's possible?"

"Do you?"

Danny thought back to when Martin was at his lowest, to all the N.A. meetings he witnessed along with their private conversations and made a decision. He shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "No, I don't think so."

Jack looked thoughtful. "Okay. That's what I want to believe, too, but I don't think we should dismiss the possibility completely. If you don't think he's using, then ask Viv if she knows what's been going on with him. I noticed that she's been keeping an eye on him for the past few days."

Danny stood and nodded, and headed out. "Hey, Viv?" Danny called as soon as he entered the bullpen. "You know if anything's been going on with Martin in the past few weeks?"

Samantha turned to the pair and grew still. Viv looked thoughtful, as if she was carefully weighing what to say. "Well," she started. "I think he was having trouble sleeping."

"He said that?" Sam asked.

"No, but he didn't have to. We all know what sleep deprivation looks like and Martin had all the signs. I don't know why he wasn't sleeping; maybe I should have asked sooner."

Sam bit her lip and looked a little embarrassed. "Yeah, me too. I've been a little too wrapped up with my . . . um, situation. He did look a bit ragged on Friday."

Then, Samantha started to think back on the past weeks and suddenly became acutely aware of the narrowness of her memory. Her life now revolved around Finn and her odd little "family". The picture Danny painted so long ago of her and Martin along with the big house and picket fence didn't seem so alien anymore and she wondered how things would be at this point in time if she and Martin hadn't parted ways.

Then it struck her: Was she the reason Martin was gone? Had he started down some doomed path because he was unable to breach the wall she'd built around her heart? Had she been so wrapped up in her own issues that she'd failed to see that Martin was sinking fast?

Samantha thought back to when she'd noticed Martin's addiction. It had felt so good to be the one to realize the problem, and to be the one to spearhead his recovery. But it had stopped there, hadn't it? She'd handed the problem over the Danny.

And when Martin was shot, she'd told him she'd be there for him, but she really hadn't; she'd handed that one off, too.

Was all of this her fault? Did Martin just take off because he felt there was no one he could rely on in his own back yard?

"Samantha?" Viv's voice broke into Samantha's train of thought. "What are you thinking?"

"Oh, um," Sam paused to tuck her hair behind her ear. "I was just thinking, I mean, do either of you think that maybe he just . . . left? Things have been pretty tough for him lately and everyone has a breaking point, right?"

The three of them were silent for a few moments, the only noise punctuating the air being Elena's keyboard as she continued her research. Danny finally broke the silence.

"Jack and I discussed that possibility and don't think so."

"But it shouldn't be ruled out," Viv pressed.

Danny and Samantha looked at each other and he shrugged. "Let's see what his car tells us," Sam finally said, unwilling to push Martin aside again.

CHAPTER FOUR

The world was a swirl of upsetting discontent as Martin's senses slowly and reluctantly dragged him to consciousness one again on a wave of nausea. Gagging, he tried to turn to the edge of the bed but was only able to twist his pulsing head to the side.

The cool cloth on his forehead felt wonderful. He concentrated on that one good feeling as he swallowed drily in an attempt to settle his stomach. He felt a pinch on his arm and ever so slowly, the headache ebbed. When it reached a tolerable level, Martin finally understood the whispered words of encouragement on the warm breath that tickled his ear. Then the realization of the dire situation he was in slammed back into his mind.

He gasped and snapped open his eyes to find Felicity's smiling face inches from his own.

"There are those pretty eyes! How do you . . ."

"Get away from me!" His headache flared and instantly joined by a new pain from his abdomen. He hissed, unable to suppress the reaction. Martin pressed back into the pillow to minimize movement and kept a wary eye on the woman sitting on the edge of the bed.

Panting seemed to distract him from physical pain a little, so he concentrated on that while he eyed his surroundings. Beside Felicity was an IV pole and Martin was horrified when he realized that she'd inserted an IV line. He blinked at the bag suspended from the metallic arm and was only a little relieved to see that it was only a saline solution - assuming the label was correct; at this point in time, he wasn't taking anything for granted.

"Just don't touch me, okay?" he panted, fighting to rein in panic.

Felicity frowned. "That must be the chloroform talking. You were the same way coming out of anesthesia." With jerky motions that hinted of irritation, she plucked the cloth from Martin's forehead, folded it neatly and then placed it in a shallow bowl on the nightstand. "I know you're in a little pain but everything should be fine." She reached toward his torso and a knife-like pain electrified him at her touch.

"Shit!" The word escaped through clenched teeth. The pain's location was frighteningly familiar and Martin unleashed fear wrenched his gut. "What the hell did you do?"

"I said I'd fix you. Just like before. The saline should help the dehydration headache. You'll need something else for the other." She leaned aside in a motion to stand up.

"Other?" Martin said, noticing that his tongue seemed thick. "Other what? What did you do, Felicity?"

"I fixed you all up, darling." Felicity paused next to the bed, her head cocked aside as she looked at his abdomen. "Just like I promised. Now just let me take the pain away." She turned away, humming a tune as she moved toward the dresser and reached for the top drawer.

Martin's racing brain tried to discern what she meant by "the other", alarmed to realize it must be tied to the fresh pain emanating from his stomach and chest. He blinked to clear his fuzzy vision and craned his neck to look down at himself. A thin, white sheet replaced the sun-colored coverlet and shrouded him from neck to toes. It looked a bit lumpy over the painfully throbbing areas and he could feel the sharp pull of bandages and tape.

"What did she do?" he whispered aloud. He tested his bonds again, and then spoke sharply. "What did you do?" Panic fluttered in his chest once again.

Still humming, Felicity turned back to him yielding a full syringe in one hand and a disinfectant wipe in the other. Her face was softened in contentment and completely unscathed by Martin's tone. When she reached his side, she swabbed the IV inlet.

"Felicity?" Martin asked, now truly scared. "What did . . .?"

Continuing to hum softly, Felicity inserted the needled into the port and depressed the plunger. Martin's words fell away with the familiar warm rush of morphine. Before he was completely under its spell, however, Felicity happily turned down the sheet.

"I said I'd fix you," she said dreamily. "That surgeon left awful scars and I simply took them away. You should be able to truly rest now, sweetie."

The horror of her words drifted away in a warm wave that obliterated everything.

* * *

"Hey? I think I found something." Elena said after a few minutes of silence. When she found nothing on Martin's computer, she concentrated on making a list of past cases that may have come back to haunt Martin. "There are a lot of cases with Martin's name on it filed with the court, as expected, but this was a bit of a surprise." She pointed to a line of text on the screen when Jack leaned over her shoulder.

"What is it?" Viv asked from the conference table, elbow deep in papers.

"Almost three years ago, Martin filed a restraining order against a woman named Felicity Anne Rickards."

"Who's that?" Danny said, rubbing his eyes. "I don't remember Martin mentioning a Felicity. And I think that's a name I'd remember."

Viv looked thoughtful as she straightened in her seat, a manicured finger tapping her chin. "What was going on in his life then?"

"He started attending NA meetings the previous fall, so he wasn't dating. NA suggests not dating for the first year," Danny summarized. "Martin followed the rules to the letter that first year."

Elena's fingers flew over the keyboard and soon there was a New York driver's license photo of a thin, wavy-haired brunette on her screen. "Felicity Rickards. Address is in the Village." She tilted the screen in the direction of the conference table.

"Kinda cute." Lured from his office, Jack moved to stand at her shoulder, scowling. "And familiar."

Samantha's voice piped in. "Yeah, now that you mention it, she does look familiar."

Elena and Viv traded glances. "I've never seen her," Viv said.

"Me either," Elena added. "Here," she brought up another screen. "One of her work addresses is St. Vincent's Hospital?"

"She was the nurse assigned to Martin when he was shot." Danny's statement was direct and sure.

"That's right, I remember." Samantha added, perking up. "The way she looked at me gave me the creeps. Didn't she home nurse Martin that first week he was released?"

Jack jumped in without pause when he walked into the bullpen. "Which would give her access to Martin's house and car keys."

"Which is why there was no sign of forced entry on Martin's car," Danny finished, standing to pull on his jacket. "Sam and I'll go to her place. Martin never mentioned the restraining order to you?"

"Nope," Jack replied. "Not a word. Must be that Fitzgerald pride. Viv and I will head to the hospital. Elena, hold the fort and keep us updated on Ms. Rickards and forensics.

"Yes, sir," Elena said, spinning around to attack the keyboard once again.

23 Hours Missing

Vivian and Jack were shown to the Human Resource office of St. Vincent's Hospital and offered a pair of stained and plucked cloth covered chairs in which to wait. They both opted to stand. It wasn't long before they were escorted to the office of Merrill Abernathy, the hospital's HR manager and chief.

"Agents," Abernathy greeted them from where he stood behind his desk. He waved at a pair of much cleaner chairs in front of his desk. "Please. How can I help you?"

"We're here about Felicity Rickards," Viv started. "I understand she was a nurse here?"

"Yes, she was," Abernathy said slowly, clearly being cautious. "What do you want to know?"

"Why was she fired?"

Abernathy shifted in his leather chair and pulled his hands from the top of his desk to his lap. "I'm not comfortable discussing staff records. Why do you need to know?"

Viv glanced at Jack, a look crossing between them acknowledging the sore spot she'd struck. "Please just answer the question Mr. Abernathy. We know Ms. Rickards worked here, both full time and part time, for at least five years. Why was she let go?"

There was a long pause of silence and Abernathy's body language - his stiff posture and hands drawn inward - emanated reluctance. "I think you need a subpoena for that information."

Jack leaned forward, his glare boring directly into the manager's eyes. "We are looking for a missing FBI agent. We have reason to believe Felicity Rickards is involved. The only thing we want is our agent back. We aren't interested in anything that happened here, legal or illegal. We need to speak to Ms. Rickards. Understand? Was she fired?"

Abernathy's piggish eyes shifted as he weighed his options and finally, with a grim line to his mouth, he leaned forward, crossing his arms on the top of his desk.

"We had a problem with . . . things . . . disappearing."

"'Things' as in drugs?" Viv pointedly asked.

"Well, yes. And other supplies. We ran an investigation but got no results. We've since tightened access and security and solved the problem. Felicity was one of several on our suspect list but we didn't have any hard evidence."

"What kinds of drugs were taken?"

"Oxycontin, some antibiotics, lidocane. It was over several months' period."

"And other supplies?"

"Basic things like gauze, syringes, surgical packs. Things like that always seem to disappear, but this was noticeably more in a short period of time. As I said, we couldn't pin it on any one person. It seemed to happen in a certain time frame and we pulled together a list of employees that worked in that period and had access. Then it stopped."

"When was this?"

"A little over a year ago? I don't know the exact date but I have it in a file. I can get that for you."

"Thank you," Viv said. "Did you fire her?"

"No, she chose to leave. We didn't try to keep her."

"Can you also get us what you have on Ms. Rickards?"

Abernathy nodded, but didn't seem very happy about it. "I'll notify the records department. It's in the basement. You can pick the items up there." He picked up the phone and ordered the documents as Viv and Jack stood to leave.

When he hung up, Jack asked, "Are there any nurses or doctors on duty now that worked with Ms. Rickards? I'd like to speak with them."

The leather chair squeaked in protest as the rotund Abernathy spun around to nudge his computer screen out of hibernation. "I have today's schedule here . . . let's see . . . ah, Mary Price was Felicity's supervising nurse for quite a while. She's in Critical Care at the moment."

"Fourth floor," Malone said. "I know where it is. We'll stop by there and then get those files. Can you call her and tell her we're on our way?"

"Sure." Abernathy sounded relieved to be off the hot seat.

Viv and Jack thanked him and headed to the fourth floor. Once in the elevator, Jack let out a sigh and fixed his eyes on the floor indicator. "I know this place far too well."

"What's your take on Felicity Rickards?" Viv asked, also staring at the ascending numbers.

"To early to tell. Spurned girlfriend? I don't think so. Angry ex-employee? Maybe. Ask me again after we leave here."

When they arrived at the fourth floor, Jack made a comment about how unusual it was to go four floors without stopping. Viv chuckled as she looked around and nodded toward a central kiosk surrounded by glass-walled rooms. As they approached, she glanced in one of the rooms and saw a young man lying on the bed with numerous wire, lines and cords looping from him to their associated machinery. A shudder passed through when her mind's eye saw Martin in his place.

"Mary Price?" Jack asked the first nurse the encountered at the desk area.

"Over there." The young woman pointed to a silver-laced redhead sitting behind a computer in a separate area.

Nurse Price looked up as they approached. "You must be the agents Mr. Abernathy sent up?" Viv's first impression was of a very organized, no nonsense woman based on the short-shorn hair and neat desk. "How can I help you?"

"We'd like to ask you some questions about Felicity Rickards."

At Jack's question, Viv saw a slight tensioning around the woman's mouth. Nurse Price looked aside and motioned toward a nearby room. "We'll have a little more privacy in here," she said as she led the way. Once inside, she turned and faced the two of them and gave them an evaluating look-over. "What do you want to know?" The wariness in her voice was obvious.

"Were you her supervisor at the time she quit?" Vivian met the woman's gaze straight on.

"Yes," she replied.

Vivian took a moment to collect her thoughts on how to approach this woman. Getting any substantial answers wasn't going to be very easy, she could tell. She decided on the direct approach. "Look, we think Felicity may have put herself in a dangerous position. We have a missing agent and there's a possibility she's involved."

With than information, Nurse Price's eyes flicked immediately to Jack. "I remember you now. You visited that GSW we had in here . . . what, three years ago? You managed to get in here after regular hours."

"Guilty," Jack said. "Martin Fitzgerald was the agent and it was a little over three years ago."

Something seemed to click in Mary's mind and her expression changed from that of a stern school marm to a concerned mother. "He's the missing agent, isn't he?"

Jack glanced at Viv and raised an eyebrow. "Yes. What made you say that?"

Mary ducked her head and turned away for a moment, her hands parked firmly on her hips. An index finger tapped nervously against her hipbone. "I should have known," she whispered.

"What was that?" Viv asked. "Known what?"

It took a few moments for Mary to turn back to them. Viv noticed that her green eyes reflected something akin to conflict. What she had to say wasn't going to be pleasant.

"Ms. Price," Vivian began. "Anything you can tell us will help, even if it's conjecture."

"I do not condone spreading rumor and I do not initiate it. All I can tell you is what I saw. How interpret it is up to you."

"But you obviously came to some kind of conclusion."

"Well, not exactly. Let's just say that I would not be surprised if Miss Rickards was involved."

"Please, tell us what you know."

"I remember Agent Fitzgerald for several reasons. One, because of the amount of press his case generated. Admin required twice-daily updates which is something we don't usually do. Two, because of the number of people visiting after hours. Especially you." Jack cleared his throat and shrugged his shoulder at Viv. "And three, the way Nurse Rickards hovered over him. It wasn't so much the time she spent with him as the expression on her face when she was there. It was . . . unusual."

"Unusual how?"

"It was . . . awe . . . or infatuation . . . I'm not sure. I noticed that she seemed to spend the most time with him. She even came in during her off hours. I had to counsel her about it. The time she spent in his room was inappropriate."

"What do you mean by that?"

Mary shook her head in frustration. "That's just it, I can't pin it down. It made me and some of the other nurses uncomfortable. It became kind of a joke amongst them. My first job after getting my nursing degree was in a psychiatric facility and something about the way she looked reminded me of my time there. It was unnerving. A feeling only. Nothing I can specifically list. As I said, I won't start rumors."

"Fair enough," Viv conceded. "What happened after you counseled her about her behavior?"

"About that time, Admin was looking into some thefts within the hospital. Felicity and two other nurses under my charge were on a watch list along with a half-dozen orderlies so my time was spent keeping an eye on them. I noticed that she backed off on the free-time visits and after a few weeks, she quit the hospital. I heard she went to a private agency. It's not unusual - agencies allow nurses more flexibility in their work hours. She subbed here occasionally."

"Did you know that Agent Fitzgerald filed a restraining order against Felicity?"

"That's what I heard. News, true or not, spreads quickly in the nursing world. Again, the jokes about it circulated through the ward. I do know that I didn't see her subbing here anymore after I heard that bit of gossip, but I see now that it was true. I'm guessing it's also true, then, that she was his home nurse?"

"Yes. Is there anything else you can tell us about Felicity?"

"Well, I think I remember that she was going through some kind of stressful family situation about the time your agent was here. Someone was sick? I don't recall exactly, but I do remember that it made sense at the time for her to join an agency. She needed more time at home and we couldn't accommodate her - we're always shorthanded. Her reason for quitting may in her files."

"Thank you, Ms. Price."

Jack and Vivian left the ward and headed for the elevators. They weren't as lucky on the trip to the basement in that they stopped at every floor in between and didn't have a chance to discuss theories until they had the files from Records and were in the car and on the way back to the office.

Jack drove while Viv perused the files. "Everything Mary Price told us is in here. The counseling slip, watch list from the theft investigation . . . and Felicity's reason for quitting was a sick relative."

"She was Martin's home nurse for just one week?"

"Martin was pretty stubborn about getting up to snuff again, I hear."

"I remember. Vividly." Jack's phone chirped from his pocket. He pulled it out, looked at the caller ID and tossed it to Viv.

"Hi, Sam," Viv answered. "What do you have?"

"We're at Felicity's last known address. She hasn't been here for at nearly a year, according to the building manager. No forwarding address. We spoke to all the neighbors and no one has seen her since she moved. I was going to call Elena and see if there was anything more to follow up on."  
"She had a sick relative. See if you can find anything on him or her, and let us know what you find out. I also have the phone number of an agency she worked for." Viv read the number aloud. "See if they have anything." She closed the phone and handed it back to her boss. "Nothing at her address. She moved a year ago, no forwarding address."

Jack grunted, his tightened grip on the steering wheel the only indication of his frustration. "If she has him, where would she take him?"

"We're not even sure she has him, Jack. I'll check with forensics to see what they found in Martin's car." Agent Johnson retrieved her phone.

"Don't bother. We'll drop in."

When they arrived at the garage and inserted themselves into the busy scene, Jack looked around and waved at the supervisor while Viv poked her head in the car.

"Hey, Morgan. Find anything?"

"Jack, I was just about to call your office. We got a couple of things."

Malone followed the head evidence tech to a nearby workbench. "We didn't find any blood, fluids or any other residue. Someone was wearing gloves at one time. Latex. There were some glove prints on the rearview mirror and door handle. We pulled a lot of prints, but most of them were old. I sent them to the lab and they immediately hit on Agent Fitzgerald. Outside those two finds, nothing. Looks like the car was recently detailed, inside and out." He turned to the bench and picked up several sealed evidence bags. "Hair. Short ones matching Fitzgerald's color," he held up one bag, and then another. "And several strands of brown. Either female or a long-haired male." Malone noticed that the long ones were wavy, just like Felicity Rickards' hair on her license photo.

"I'll take that up for DNA sampling. Anything else?" He took the hair samples from Morgan.

"We found the long hairs on the center console, the driver's seat and the back seat behind the driver's seat. We also found some soil on the floor behind the driver's seat and on the floor under the pedals."

"Morgan?" Viv called from beside the car.

Jack pocketed the soil samples along with the hair and the two men walked over to Vivian. Morgan looked at her questioningly.

"Is this the way the car was found? I mean, have the seats been moved?"

"Let me check." Morgan waved over a technician. "Photos?"

The younger man handed over a digital camera. "Haven't uploaded yet."

Morgan turned on the camera and brought up the images. "What are you looking for?"

"The driver's seat," Viv said. The three of them crowded together and looked at the camera's captures.

"This is how it looked when we brought it in." Morgan ran the series from the start. First there were general outside shots from all angles, and then the same photos with the doors open.

"There," Viv pointed out. She looked back at the car. The seats were unmoved. "Look at this, Jack." The pair walked back to the car. "Martin's taller than that."

Jack agreed. "Are you done in there?" Morgan nodded, so Jack opened the driver door to sit in the seat and found it nearly impossible to fit his knees under the steering wheel. "This is adjusted for someone shorter than Martin and me."

"Well, we'll just add 'short' to the suspect description, then, along with 'brunette'." Viv said with an unsatisfied frown while Jack struggled to get out of the car.

"One other thing," Morgan added. "The driver's seatback was jammed."

"Jammed?"

Morgan returned to the workbench and picked up another bag. "Yeah. When we collected the dirt from the carpet behind the driver's seat, we had a time leaning the seatback forward. This was stuck in the mechanism."

Jack took the bag and looked at it closely. "Cloth?"

"It's a piece of a bigger piece. Terrycloth. Possibly a wash cloth or a dish cloth."

"Hm," Jack grunted. He tucked the plastic-encased yellow bit into his pocket with the other evidence.

"So, someone else drove Martin's car. We just have to figure out who and when." Viv cocked her head at her boss.

Jack slammed the car door shut. "And where. Yeah, piece of cake." He patted his pocket. "I'll take these to the lab and meet you in the office. Tell the others what we have. Thanks, Morgan. Let us know if you find anything else."

CHAPTER FIVE

Martin thought his eyes were open – it was too dark to tell. He forced a blink and deduced it was, in fact, nighttime. The furnishings in the room slowly emerged as shapes in the shadow. The one window glowed around the edges from silver moonlight and a wedge of it spilled onto the floor from under the edge of the heavy curtain.

Martin blinked again as he surveyed the room to make sure he was alone. All he could hear were crickets and the soft waft of the curtain in the slight breeze. No car sounds, no talking, no breathing other than his own. He was definitely out of the city.

Deciding he was alone, Martin tested his bonds next. Gentle tugs told him that he was still restrained, both hand and foot. He sighed, and the motion of his chest awakened pain, not quite as sharp as before. The slices in his torso ached, the affected area forcing recall of another time when it hurt a whole lot more. Martin gritted his teeth to stop a gasp; he needed to focus on the here and now. He needed to formulate some kind of plan.

He turned his attention to the room. Whatever Felicity gave him hadn't quite worn off yet, and the cloying comfort of being completely numb to everything dangled in his mind like a carrot on a string. He was still fuzzy, and Martin had to work to ignore it as he assessed his situation.

After committing the furnishings to memory, Martin then focused on the bonds. He tugged and twisted, and found the limits of freedom each limb had. He tried to make out the locking mechanism, but it was impossible to see any detail in the dark so he searched his memory.

He'd seen restraints on patients before; some had locks and some had buckles. He knew his had locks, and that the locks he'd seen before were similar to handcuffs – and he knew how to pick handcuffs. Getting his hand on the key was probably not possible but a hairpin would work just fine. The only obstacle he could think of was his traitorous mind – it had fallen too easily as prey to the unwanted drugs.

All this sounded like some old movie's lame plot. He groaned softly at the ridiculousness of it all. A sharp noise caught his attention – the muted click of a door closing close by. It was followed a soft tread of footfall drawing near and Martin found his breath stalled in his chest. He forced his lungs to inhale, and then exhaled slowly to calm his pulse. The vague fog on the edge of his awareness was the only trace left of the injected drugs and he found the pain of his "surgery" growing difficult to ignore.

"I see you're awake, Martin." Felicity sounded pleased. Her hand rested lightly on his forehead and Martin worked not to cringe. "I'm sure it was a dreamless sleep. I would have heard you."

The phrase caught his attention. "Heard me?"

"Monitor." She nodded toward the nightstand.

When Felicity clicked on the small lamp, Martin noticed what looked like a baby monitor sitting next to it. He wondered where the receiver was as he dragged his attention back to his captor. She was leaning over to tuck in a loose sheet edge when his eyes caught a flash of metal around her neck; but what made his heart surge was what dangled from it at the edge of her blouse neckline – the restraint key.

Martin acted without thought and shoved his hand forward. There was just enough play in the leather's length, and he wrapped his fingers around the key with determination.

Felicity gasped when Martin then yanked sideways with all his limited strength. It was enough for her to lose her balance and fall across him. Pain zinged outward from his wounds and raced down his extremities, but he fought to work through it.

Martin grabbed a handful of her hair with his other hand pulled, forcing her head under his hand. He could feel the key in the opposite hand, and worked his fingers up the chain until it was taut. Then, he pulled.

Felicity's muffled scream was hot against his side. At first, she tried to push away, but when she felt the tug of the chain and realized that her head was trapped, she changed tactics.

The first strike was a slap to his shoulder. Martin worked his fingers into her hair, tightening his grip. The second strike was a slap to the freshened wound in near his shoulder and the pain flared sharply. Martin gasped, and finally felt the chain give away from her neck.

It was the third strike that took his full attention. Felicity made a fist and ground it into to the awakened wound and Martin's world turned blinding white with pain.

"Ahhhh!" he screamed as his body arched against the mattress. Felicity took advantage of the distraction and pulled away, spitting curses. Martin, dazed, felt waves of nausea and pain, and panted harshly to try to get some kind of control over it.

"Damn you, Martin, now look what you've done!"

Felicity's voice, shrill and near hysterical, pierced Martin's skull as she patted him down. Martin felt the necklace yanked from his nerveless fingers as he cringed from the new onslaught, but a tiny piece of his mind held satisfaction. He focused on that one positive, and was concentrating so fully that he didn't notice Felicity's actions right beside him.

Finally able to soften the pain through controlled panting and focused thought, it was only after she'd stabbed the IV port with full syringe that Martin became aware of what Felicity was doing. "No," he groaned, realizing he wasn't going to be aware of much in very few seconds.

"I'm sorry, Martin, but you did this to yourself." Now, her voice was low and hard with anger.

He hated the conflicted emotions of relief and fear he felt as the first edge of the drug's warmth hit him, but Martin worked to look beyond that in the seconds of thought he had left.

In those few seconds, he managed to tuck away the bobby pin from Felicity's hair under the mattress. With a tiny amount of satisfaction, he then he allowed his body to drift away into a painless sleep.

* * *

Jack dragged into the bullpen with two steaming cups in his hands. He stopped in the doorway and pursed his lips at was he saw.

It was the middle of the night and the building was predominantly dark. Viv and Danny were getting some sleep, leaving Samantha and Jack to go through everything they could find on Felicity Rickards. In the few minutes it took Jack to get coffee, Samantha had dropped off.

At the moment, her cheek rested on a short stack of files, facing an open file still in her hand but tipped backward onto a taller stack of papers. Blonde hair flowed over the shorter stack and puddled on the table, glowing rich gold in the soft light. Jack snorted with affection and moved forward.

When he dropped into the chair next to her, Samantha's eyelids fluttered. Jack waved a cup near her nose, and her nose twitched.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty," he said.

One eye peeled open, followed by the other, and Samantha sat up with a frown and a groan as she reached behind to rub her lower back. "There better be a couple espresso shots in there," she grumbled, reaching for a cup.

"I stand corrected. You're Shrek."

Propped on both elbows with the cup between her hands and under her nose, Samantha glared darkly at him.

"I guess I'll have to wait for the caffeine to hit your brain before I get a snappy reply." Jack took the chair next to her and watched her face as worry overtook the tiredness in her eyes. Samantha scanned the piles surrounding them and sighed. Jack reached out and rubbed her back. "We'll find him," he said. Then he sighed and scrubbed his cheek.

"What if we're wrong?" Samantha said softly, her gaze on the papers. "What if we're spending all this time looking for Felicity Rickards and it's actually someone else?"

"It's the best lead we have, especially since there's been no ransom demand."

"No ransom demand _yet_," she clarified. "It's still early."

"There's my trained agent," Jack said amusedly. "True, but in the meantime we have Ms. Rickards. My gut tells me it's the way to go."

Samantha rubbed an eye with her palm, sighed, and put down the coffee. "Well, we can't ignore your gut, now can we?" She picked up Felicity's old phone records and stared at it.

Jack watched her for a few, long seconds. "He means something to you, doesn't he?" he asked softly. Before saying anything, Jack noticed her brown eyes flick his way for a scant second.

"Of course he means something," she said guardedly. "We work together. He's my partner."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it." There was no rancor in his voice. Instead, it was full of concern. For a moment, he saw a glimpse of the private Samantha he'd known years before. He was well aware that beneath the tough, sharp investigator personage she wore at work, was a warm, giving woman. He'd breeched her wall of self-protection at one time and wondered if Martin had managed to do the same thing without him noticing.

Samantha looked up and held his gaze, as if trying to read the intent behind his question. Finally, she answered. "Yes, he means something. I have to find him."

"Does he know?"

She returned to the work before them. She didn't want to say she didn't know, either, until this minute. Instead, she said, "I don't think he cares, really."

"His loss."

With that, they continued their search.

Samantha, however, had a new nugget in her head. Was it Martin's loss? He'd been the one to call off the relationship, and, looking back, she didn't blame him. What brought her attention back to him was the fact that, despite their past, they had managed to become friends. He knew her better than most – he'd seen her highs and lows, and she'd definitely seen his. Even with that, they'd built a strong friendship. In her experience, that was unheard of.

In a rare flash of self-examination, Samantha reviewed her "dating life" since their split; it was noting but superficial. And from what she'd seen of Martin's, it was pretty much the same. There was, of course, the 12-step year of non-dating to take into account, which, in her opinion, had led to the Kim Marcus fiasco. Martin was obviously looking for something.

Could it be her?

She felt a flush of heat at the thought. Was she the reason Martin had made such bad choices? Did he still care for her that way? Samantha resolved to find out, but first they had to find him.

CHAPTER SIX

A vaguely familiar lullaby drifted sleepily through his head as Martin ever so slowly became aware. He felt as if he cowered in a dark corner and the gentle song coaxed him to face the sun once again. Carefully, he felt his way from the darkness, following the sweet sound.

"_Mom?"_ he thought, but when the tune didn't waver, he called again. _"Aunt Bonnie? Sam?"_

Puzzled when the song continued, Martin realized that he must still be asleep. He forced his eyelids apart and blinked at the brightness. The soft voice was coming from his right, so he turned his head to find the source. When Felicity came into focus, Martin felt his blood surge. He gasped.

Felicity's head snapped around and her face lit up with a bright smile. "Hey, there! You're just in time." She stood from the small secretary where she had been sitting and writing.

Martin's place in this dream snapped into clarity but he managed to curb his panic. The result of his last outburst came to mind - he had to keep calm. Martin swallowed hard and tried to control the fear in his heart as Felicity approached. When she reached for his forehead, he managed to keep still and dredge up a tight smile.

"You feel better? You've been asleep for a while." Felicity stroked his cheek. Martin worked to lie still.

"Water?" he croaked.

Felicity fussed with the pillow and brought the head of the bed up, and then filled a cup from a bedside pitcher. She talked, happily, as she directed the straw to his mouth and he drank. Martin's mind slowly cleared and his thought process began to work again.

"I'm making a list for the store. I've got all your favorites on it." When Martin was finished, she put the cup down and straightened the sheets. "You still need to take it easy and let those incisions knit. I'll let you sit up for awhile. How about I open the curtain so you can see outside?"

Felicity moved to the window and pulled the curtain aside. Beyond the window, Martin saw nothing but trees and heard only singing birds.

"It's a beautiful day!" She picked up a remote control from a nearby table and came to him, placing the device in his hand. "In case you want to watch television while I'm gone." She turned away and gathered her purse from the secretary.

Martin glanced up, surprised to see a flat screen television mounted on the wall. He hadn't noticed it before. Blinking rapidly to get his wandering thoughts in line, Martin quickly looked around and tugged his limbs; still restrained.

"Felicity?" he managed to croak, his voice sounding a pitch higher than normal.

She turned and beamed at him. "Yes, honey? Something you want from the store?"

"Um, not really, but can you undo these?" Martin lifted his arm as far as it would go. He could still feel the fuzzy effects of the drugs and it was difficult to dredge up a smile - it felt more like a grimace.

She stared at him a moment, her face frozen in a plastic looking smile, before saying, "No, you have to be still so you can heal. I'll be back in a little while. You rest."

"No, wait." Martin pleaded. "Just my legs, then? I can curl up a little that way. My back's sore and it will help. Please?"

As soon as he mentioned his back, Felicity frowned with concern and put her purse down. "I'm sure you are a little sore from being in one position. I'll give you a back rub when I get back." She moved to the bed and slipped the chain from around her neck. "I'll release your legs so you can put your knees up."

"That would be great," he sighed, his heart racing. He had to keep still.

Felicity stood at the foot of the bed and well out of Martin's reach when she released his legs. Although part of him screamed to try to wrestle her down with his free limbs, he remained outwardly calm. After she left, he'd have the time he needed to pick the lock.

She smiled at him and collected her purse again as she placed the key chain back around her neck. Then she cocked her head, staring at him.

"Thanks," Martin said. He bent his knees and sighed. "That feels much better."

"You need to be careful of the stitches. Don't move too quickly."

"Okay." He managed to hold her stare without showing any anger. She stood a bit too long, though, and Martin wondered what she had in mind. Then she put the purse down again.

"I can't leave you in pain." She headed to the medicine drawer.

"I'm not in pain," Martin said quickly. "Really. Just a bit stiff. It'll loosen up." Felicity did not acknowledge him. When she turned to him with the loaded syringe, his heart sank.

"Just a small dose to take the edge off," she said happily. Felicity grabbed the IV port and started injecting the liquid.

Martin had to fight back all desire to use his legs. It would be quite a stretch to connect using his leg and he was sure the stitches in his guy would not like it. Disgusted, he also had to fight back the wanting he felt for the drug. As he felt its relaxing effect, he watched Felicity put the syringe away, grab her purse and turn to go. She started humming that lullaby again, but this time it made Martin's skin prickle.

He fought the cloying effects while listening for indications that Felicity was, in fact, leaving. Finally finding a foggy zone where he could dwell somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, Martin heard a car start up and was sure she was gone. Then started the fight to find and retrieve the hairpin with thick, numb fingers that resisted orders to function.

The level of concentration required was mentally exhausting for what should have been such a simple task. Martin, sometimes close to tears, pushed to his limit. Cold sweat sheathed his body and caused the light sheet to stick to bare skin. Sparing a glance from his fumbling fingers, he saw faint pink spots bleeding through the gauze and sheet and was thankful for the level of drugs in his system. He felt the edge of pain as he worked, but it was tolerable. A feeling of elation tickled his nerves when he managed to get the hairpin in the keyhole, causing his fingers to tremble and the pin to drop to the mattress.

"No, no, no!" he breathed in near hysterical disappointment. Hard fought tears mixed with the sweat on his face. Martin felt on the edge of control, recognized it, and forced himself to relax and regroup. He had no idea how much time he had until she returned and it was nearly impossible to push back the desire to rush, but, somehow, he managed.

It was tricky to gather his concentration and control again, especially with the lure of the soothing darkness always hanging at the back of his mind, but he managed and eventually felt ready to try again. Martin took a deep breath, focused on the hairpin lying on the mattress, and started over.

* * *

"I don't understand this," Vivian grumbled. "The woman has dropped off the planet."

"I agree." Samantha, just returned from a too-short sleeping stint, rubbed her eyes. "If we could only prove the hair from the car was hers, I wouldn't feel like we were chasing a ghost."

"Let's start over," Danny sighed. "We must have missed something."

"Start over from where?" Elena asked. "Maybe that's what we need to look at."

Samantha frowned. "We have her work history. That puts her in the city for a long time. Start before that, you mean?"

"We've checked family. Her parents are dead." Danny sounded discouraged as he dug through the paperwork.

"What about before that? Extended family, maybe? The sick relative?" Vivian looked lost in thought.

"Wasn't that the mother? She passed away about that time." Samantha tapped on the computer keys. "Here's the death certificate. Felicity inherited everything, but sold the house."

Vivian twisted her chair around and looked at the screen. "I wonder," she mused softly.

Samantha, Elena and Danny looked at her. "Maybe there's more here."

"What do you mean?" Tired, Samantha stood and stretched, and then leaned against her desk, allowing Vivian a better view of the monitor.

"What if there was another family issue going on? I mean, it looks like we're talking about a very disturbed person. There may have been a catalyst - like emotional stress." She leaned forward and pointed at the screen. "What do we know about Felicity's father? Was he around when mom died?"

"He died when Felicity around ten years old," Elena said. "That's about all we know."

"Did we check his family? What about the mother's family?" Vivian's demeanor lifted as her mind clicked into action. "After the father died, did another relative step up to the plate? If so, where's he or she now?"

With a new trail to follow, there was a burst of activity.

"Mother's maiden name was Silverman," Samantha said aloud. "Born in Clanton, New Jersey."

A flutter of activity kept the team busy until Vivian nearly growled, "A lot of the records for that city were lost in a fire not long after Felicity's mother was born. It's going to take a little time to find siblings, if any."

"I'll check with the Social Security office. And there's still school records to check," Danny volunteered, and the team dug in again.

An hour nearly passed when Jack entered the bullpen. "Well," he started after a quick glance around. "You all look busy. Something come up?"

As Vivian briefed their boss on their line of thought, Samantha's desk phone rang and she plucked it from the cradle and tucked it between her shoulder and ear as she continued to type. Then, she stopped and sat up straight. "I'll be right there. Keep an eye on her, but don't approach her, understand?" Standing, she hung up the phone and grabbed her coat.

Danny rose from his chair as the team turned their attention to Samantha.

"That was the grocery store manager near Felicity's old address. I left a photo and my card, just in case, and Felicity's there right now." When she bolted to the elevator, Danny was on her heels with Elena and Vivian close behind.

"Keep in touch!" Jack called as they disappeared. Then he approached the conference table and continued from where the others left off.

They took two cars. Samantha found it difficult to sit still while Danny drove much too slowly for her taste. Danny gave her a glance and asked, "Did the clerk say anything else?"

"Manager," Samantha corrected as she checked her watch yet again. "When I spoke to her before, she told me that before she was manager, she worked the night shift and remembered Felicity because she'd do her shopping in the middle of the night."

"One of the joys of shift work," Danny commented.

"Yeah, I guess the normal middle of the night shoppers just hit the snack aisles. Not many hung out in the fresh fruit section, so she remembered Felicity. She liked to come in as they stocked the fruits and vegetables right from the delivery trucks."

"Health nut?"

Samantha snorted. "Guess so. If she has Martin, he's probably craving a cheeseburger." She found it difficult to keep the worry from her voice and knew she wasn't successful when she saw the sympathetic glance from Danny. She pressed her lips into a tight line in an effort to keep control.

"We'll find him," Danny said softly.

Samantha glanced at her watch again and decided to change the topic away from her confused feelings and thoughts. "I wonder if Brian remembered Finn's doctor appointment."

"Is Finn okay?"

Samantha looked out the side window, distracted. "Yeah. It's just a check up." She tried to gather her thoughts and emotions at the same time. Having Brian at her place certainly made things easier, but she knew that their future was not set in stone. She was fond of Brian and loved the way he interacted with their son, but she was beginning to see that he didn't fill that empty spot inside her. Now that her little boy had managed to break down the wall around her heart, Samantha realized what - or who - was missing.

And she intended to find him and find out if there she still a chance with him.

Danny stopped in the red zone in front of the small market while Samantha called Vivian and told her to take the back alley. They quickly walked into the store, and were greeted by the manager as soon as they flashed their identification.

"She just left," the woman said. "I followed her out. Here's her car information."

"Where did she park? Which way did she go?" Danny asked.

Samantha relayed Danny's conversation to Vivian, who headed in the direction indicated. The two agents sprinted back to the car where Samantha relayed the license plate information to Lucy. She stayed on the line, impatiently waiting for the registration information

"Car comes back to a post office box in the Stamford area," Samantha told Danny.

Danny whistled. "A fair distance," he said lowly just before turning sharply at the next intersection. "If she's headed that way, we need to notify State Patrol."

Samantha did so, and then notified Vivian. Danny continued out of town. With each passing mile, Samantha's nerves tightened to the point where she felt like screaming. Just when she was about to encourage Danny to drive faster, her phone rang.

"Spade," she snapped. When she heard the message, her heart soared. "They have her stopped on the 95, south of Stamford. Vivian's going to beat us there and stay with the car. We're to bring Felicity back with us." Danny nodded and accelerated.

It still wasn't fast enough for Samantha.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Felicity Rickards' glare encompassed her entire face, but one feature caught Danny's attention.

"Crazy eyes," he stated aloud.

"Excuse me?" Samantha asked, her partner's statement pulling her from her own worried thoughts.

"She's got Crazy Eyes." Danny waved a finger at the woman sitting in the interview room. As he spoke, Jack entered the room and Felicity swiveled her head in his direction.

"Is that a Dannyism evolved from personal experience?"

"Nah, it's a reality. Men flee from women with Crazy Eyes. It's a sign of desperation. Clinginess. Possessiveness. You know what I mean. It scares men away." Danny crossed his arms over his chest and slouched against the observation room wall, studying Felicity.

Surprisingly, Samantha made no comment. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and turned her attention to the woman behind the glass as Jack sat down across from her. They heard Jack introduce himself.

"Crazy Eyes," Samantha murmured, thoughtful.

"Why am I here?" Felicity snapped on the other side.

Jack adjusted his tie and then folded his hands on top of the folder in front of him, his forearms resting on the table. He was a picture of calm. "We're gathering information on the disappearance of Martin Fitzgerald. I understand you were his nurse at one time?"

"Yes, I was." Her face softened a little. "He was shot. He's missing?"

Jack led her down a deceptively innocent path with a series of statements and harmless questions gauging every response and reading every nuance of body language. Over time, Samantha knew what to look for and what certain inflections meant, but she was nowhere as schooled as Jack was. She found herself studying Felicity more closely as the interrogation continued.

"Either she's psychotic or she completely innocent," she finally said. "She's not showing any indication of stress or guilt."

"Don't underestimate the Crazy Eyes," Danny said, also transfixed with the interview ongoing before them. "First impressions are usually correct."

"That would make her psychotic," Samantha muttered, a chill shivering her spine. "We need to look in her car."

"She didn't allow that. She certainly knows her rights."

"All we need is a hair to compare to the one in evidence. We're getting nothing here." She waved a hand at the glass.

The two of them continued to watch an interview they knew was going nowhere. Apparently, the same idea crossed Jack's mind because Samantha noticed the shift in his technique.

"Nursing must be hard work."

Felicity paused a second, then replied. "It can be."

"I mean, all those sick and hurt people relying on your care to get well. It's quite a responsibility. You must be very rewarding to see your patients recover."

After a momentary pause, she nodded. "Yes, it is."

"On the other hand, it must be very difficult to see those that don't recover. Those that don't quite make it back to what they were. Those that leave your care a lesser person."

A slight twitch of Felicity's features quickly smoothed. She glanced at her hands, crossed in her lap.

"Not that it's your fault," Jack continued. "I mean, you can only pick up where the doctors leave off. You can only work with what's left for you."

Felicity's face minutely hardened and her words seemed rehearsed. "Doctors do the best they can." She raised her chin and looked directly at Jack. "Just like I do."

"I'm sure Martin appreciated everything you did for him, Ms. Rickards."

"It's Callaway," she corrected. "I've changed my name to Callaway."

The atmosphere immediately charged in the observation room when Danny straightened from the wall and Samantha flipped open the thick folder in her hand. "Mother's maiden name was Silverman," she said, leafing through the pages. "Why Callaway? Any Callaways die about a year ago? That's when Felicity fell off the radar."

Samantha surmised that Jack had to be as surprised as they were at that bit of information, but there was no indication of it as the interview continued.

"I remember you from the hospital," Jack continued smoothly, leaning back in his chair. "You were very attentive and caring. I don't think I ever thanked you for that."

Felicity muttered a quiet reply to the thanks and even offered a tiny smile. "Nurses don't get thanked very often, but that's not why I do it."

Jack continued in that vein as Danny and Samantha scrambled to follow up on the new intelligence.

Danny's fingers flew across the keyboard in the Observation Room. "Silverman. A husband and wife died within months of each other. Says here in the obituary that Jake died of a broken heart after his wife's passing. The only relative listed is a niece, Felicity. No last name. I bet she took care of them," Danny flipped open his cell. "Jake and Ruth Silverman. Ruth's maiden name was Callaway!" Momentarily triumphant, he continued to pound the keys. "There must be a will on file that will list property holdings."

"Jake was her mother's brother, I bet." Samantha took over the computer while Danny called the County Recorder. "And I also bet they raised Felicity. No wonder we couldn't find her. But why use Callaway instead of Silverman?"

"There must have been something about Ruth she identified with, more than her mother," Danny surmised.

"I'll tell Jack." Samantha picked up the wall phone. Inside, Jack stood and picked up his end. She quickly told him what they found, and what they were looking for. She knew, however, that even with property listings, they didn't have enough for a warrant. As she spoke to Jack, she ran her eyes over Felicity and noted how her hair was twisted and clipped off her neck with a simple comb-style hair clip.

In the interview room, Jack kept his face neutral, studying Felicity as he listened to Samantha.

"We need a hair sample," Samantha said. "I want to try something. When you're done, I'll come in to escort her out."

Jack flicked his eyes at her through the glass and nodded. "Fine," was all he said, preparing to hang up.

"Hold on," Danny called.

"Wait," Samantha said into the receiver. On the other side of the divider, Jack paused.

Danny picked up the tablet that had his hastily scribbled notes. "There are five possible addresses, scattered all over Stamford." He looked at Samantha. "Why not let her lead us to the right place?"

"You hear that?" Samantha asked. "If I can get a hair sample, we can have preliminary results by the time we get there. Then we can get a warrant."

"I hear you," Jack answered. Then he hung up and turned back to his chair.

Samantha carefully hung up the phone, watching the subject of the interview as she did so. Felicity sat quietly, eyes downcast to her hands and appearing thoughtful. The agent wondered at the fact that Felicity, at no time, had shown any sign of nervousness; anger and pride, yes, but not an iota of nervousness.

That fact said that Felicity Rickards/Callaway was either innocent or a sociopath, and Samantha's stomach twisted at what her instincts screamed. She swallowed hard and waited for Jack's cue that would indicate the interview was over. And the fact that Danny didn't scoff at her unvoiced plan to get a hair sample told her that Danny's gut was just as queasy

Her boss settled in his chair and apologized for the interruption. Felicity didn't respond. Jack took a moment before saying, "I bet it was very difficult for you when Martin was discharged."

Felicity raised her head and met Jack's eyes. Still, there was absolutely no indication of what was going on in her head.

"I think he left too soon." Jack turned slightly sideways and flicked the edge of the folder on the table as he turned his attention to it. "He wasn't ready, but Martin insisted. He should have stayed longer. I'm certainly not a medical expert, but I think the doctors were wrong, releasing him when they did." He looked back to Felicity

"Yes," Felicity whispered sadly.

"He really needed to be looked after." He glanced to the glass wall, giving Samantha the head's up she was looking for. "I think you said something to the doctors, too. I mean, Martin could hardly walk."

Samantha heard the last part as the Observation Room door closed behind her. She covered the distance to the Interview Room door in a few steps and heard Danny right behind her.

When she pushed the door open, she heard Jack ask, "I think you were right to take care of him after that. I think you still want to take care of him." He shoved a copy of Martin's restraining order across to her.

She glanced at the order and laughed shortly. "I don't know what you mean," she said, pushing the chair back and picked up her purse. As she straightened, Samantha reached over and bumped the comb clip in Felicity's hair hard enough to loosen its hold. "Ouch!" Felicity yelped, lurching to her feet.

"I'm sorry," Samantha said quickly. "I was reaching for the chair."

Felicity glared hotly at her while reaching up for the clip with one hand. At seeing the blonde agent, Felicity's cheeks flushed and her face grew hard. Motionless, she raked Samantha with a burning look and then turned to Jack. Releasing her hair from the clip, she spoke sharply as she used both hands to pull her hair back and twist it into place. "Please take me back to my car," she snapped. The clip was replaced, and as she reached for her coat,

Samantha plucked it from the back of the chair and held it close.

"An agent's here to take you down." Danny said, distracting her as he smiled and held the door open.

"Thank you for your time, Ms. Callaway." Jack circled around and held out his hand. "Here's my card. Call me if you think of anything else."

The way Jack approached her forced Felicity to turn her back to Samantha, who quickly brushed her hand down the length of the coat in several long strokes. She even managed to give it a good shake before Felicity turned back toward her. Then, the agent solemnly held it out. Felicity grabbed it and walked out of the door, where Danny bade her goodbye.

Jack, instantly on the phone, spoke quickly and hung up. "Lucy has a GPS. You need to get to Felicity's car before she does. I'll have the agent driving her stall as much as he can, but you'll have to move it. I'll get Forensics to look for any hairs in here. Go."

He spoke to his agents' retreating backs.

* * *

It was a nearly impossible task to take command of disconnected fingers. Martin teetered precariously on an edge between focus and despair - a tiny, dark voice dogged him to give up and give in while a visage of Samantha and his mother urged him to keep fighting.

He was exhausted. The inexorable pull of the drug proved to be too much early on and Martin jerked into awareness more than once, both ashamed and furious that his body betrayed him so easily with surrender. When he finally became aware, he immediately renewed his attack on the lock with his now twisted and scratched hairpin.

He counted two times when his body gave up. When the third time called, he managed to hold the effects at bay and knew the drug was finally running its course. Martin had no idea of the time, but marked the passing of the hours by the way the shadows slanted through the window and the gradual rise of pain from his wounds. Felicity should have already returned; she'd indicated a short excursion based on the small amount of Morphine.

What if she'd been in an accident and couldn't return? What if he died here, trapped in this bizarre prison? When would anyone find him? Those thoughts injected nervous adrenalin into his blood, hopefully hastening the exit of what Felicity gave him. The resulting trembling didn't help his fat, fumbling fingers, though, and Martin thought he'd scream when he dropped the pin yet again.

His fingers and forearm cramped painfully. Martin hissed, both glad to feel again and furious at the interruption. He could feel droplets of sweat trickling down his temple and rubbed the side of his face on his pillow when it stung his eyes. The pin tipped in his fingers but he didn't drop it, encouraged that things were finally going his way.

Martin set his jaw and focused on his hand, willing his fingers to cooperate. Ever so slowly, the pin moved into position over the tiny keyhole. He could feel pain in his extended joints but ignored it. With one final order, his fingertip tilted just enough and the pin tip dropped in the hole. Martin hissed with joy and increased the grip on the makeshift key.

He heard the crunch of gravel outside and panic flared. Martin's fingertips pinched the metal and he twisted the pin, feeling for the click of the locking mechanism.

A car engine shut off and after a moment, Martin heard a car door slam.

"Come on," he whispered, sweat popping out all over his body, his wounds pulling and stinging. He twisted the pick and felt the resistance he was looking for. He nearly sobbed with joy and summoned all his strength to his fingers, grunting as pain stabbed his overly stressed fine muscles.

A door opened close by. The lock resisted in his hand. Footsteps tracked closer. The small mechanism finally gave away to pressure and Martin pulled.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie, I got held up." Felicity's voice said lightly. Her tone abruptly changed. "Martin!"

Martin tugged and twisted and the restraint released with antagonizing slowness.

"No!" Felicity dropped the shopping bags she held and ran to the bed through a current of rolling apples and oranges.

She reached for the loose restraint, but Martin used his leg to push her away. Holding the hairpin in a sweaty grip, he twisted to attack the other restraint, marginally aware of the tearing pain of his stomach and a sudden smear of blood on the sheets.

"Martin, stop! Stop!"

He felt her hands on him again and he shrugged her off, using his elbow to give the motion some bite. Felicity squeaked when he connected. "Get away from me!" he snarled, kicking backward with one leg. He heard a crash but didn't take the time to see what damage he'd inflicted. His hand shook as he inserted the pin and he bit his lip in desperate concentration.

Seconds ticked by in his head. _"Too long._" The thought rocketed to the forefront - Felicity's silence was too long. Martin felt the wanted resistance in the lock and risked a glace to his captor. She was withdrawing a syringe from a small bottle and the sight made his gut twist. He turned back, gave the pin a hard twist, and it leaped from his fingers and skittered on the floor.

"SHIT!" he yelled, tugging at the leather. Abandoning escape for defense he turned to Felicity, now only a few steps from the bed, and saw her reach for the I.V. still inserted in his shackled arm. Martin quickly pulled out the line, the sharp pain making him gasp.

"You shouldn't have done that," Felicity wailed, her eyes big. Before she could retreat, though, Martin lunged for the chain that peeked out from the neckline of her blouse. He caught the chain, but the effort made him roll over the bed railing. The resulting spike of pain was debilitating.

Still, he held on, the chain digging into his hand as Felicity pulled back. Her motion dragged him the rest of the way over the railing and he screamed with the sudden, breath-taking pain. The chain broke from her neck but Martin was temporarily stunned. He hung from one restrained arm, his legs on the floor. It took some time to get his feet under him and when the blossom of pain ebbed slightly, he became aware of Felicity close by on her hands and knees, looking for something she'd dropped.

Martin dug deep and turned away, training all his attention to the final lock. Sweat stung his eyes and blurred his vision as he fumbled to get the key between his fingers. Finally, he managed to fit the key in the lock and twisted.

He felt sharp pain shoulder as the restraint unlocked and quickly loosened from his hanging weight. Martin flopped to the floor tangled in the bloody sheet with Felicity latched on his back. He twisted and slammed her to the floor, kicked free from the sheet and rolled to his hands and knees, panting heavily and hurting all over. Something dangled from his shoulder and he glanced aside, spying a bobbing syringe.

A groan welled from deep inside as he slowly reached toward it with a trembling hand. Martin plucked the syringe and needle out as he felt the warmth of the drug start its paralyzing cascade. Finding his feet was challenging due to pain, dizziness and the growing vertigo, so he took a moment, clutching the bedrail to stay upright and fighting to resist a black tide rising.

Panting, and with eyes whose focus was precarious at best, Martin looked around, taking in the gore that was his torso - black centipede-stitches crawled where puckered scars had been, marching over bloody and raw flesh. When Felicity showed signs of coming around, moaning quietly and blindly reaching for support, Martin's shocked self-examination ceased and his heart thundered anew. He willed back the drug's effects. Pulling the low-slung scrub pants higher on his hips, he held them in place as he wobbled toward the hallway.

His wavering vision zeroed in on the woods outside at the end of the hall. Martin locked his eyes on the gently swaying branches in the growing darkness, knowing the setting sun would cover his escape, and tried to run. One hand was a balled fist in the material of the thin pants and he leaned on the wall with the other, knocking unidentified things off the wall as he moved closer to his goal.

Martin's speed picked up as determination steeled. When he hit the end of the hallway and crashed through the glass of the sliding door, he barely paused, driven onward by desperation.

He kept going, ignoring the pain, ignoring the cold and ignoring the call of the drug's promised peace, falling into the welcome embrace of the surrounding forest.

CHAPTER EIGHT

"I don't see the tail lights anymore," Danny said. "Did she turn?"

Samantha angled the hand held GPS so she could see the street names better on the display. "Um, right. Turn right . . . here? I can't see anything in these woods."

Danny slowed the sedan so they wouldn't miss the turn. A typical two-lane roadway wended it way through the bucolic country deep within the Stamford area state park. One part of the park remained private property, and this was where Felicity had led them.

"You sure there's houses out here?" Danny asked, leaning forward as he squinted into the darkness. "Damn, its dark."

Instead of answering, Samantha rolled down her window. It was cold - autumn was definitely afoot, and the thought crossed her mind that the trees should be changing soon. Unconsciously, she tugged her jacket closer. Then she smelled something.

"Stop a second," she said. "Turn off the headlights." As Danny edged to the side of the narrow pavement and stopped, Samantha stuck her head out of the window. "I smell dust. She must have turned off right around here." She pushed the car door open and stepped outside, resisting the urge to use her flashlight. If there was a house close to the road, the beam would be visible and she didn't want to give their presence away.

She waited for her eyes to adjust and realized the moon not only supplied an adequate amount of light, but its soft light would cast better shadows and that's what she looked for. The tire tread from Felicity's car should be visible because of the shadows the indentation would cast - fresh tracks had sharp ridges. Old tracks, smoothed by the wind and elements, wouldn't be as obvious. Sam concentrated on the indistinct line where the pavement ended and the dirt shoulder began.

Finally, she saw where a car had turned off very recently. She stopped and peered into the trees. She heard Danny come up behind her, and she quickly raised her arm to motion for silence. Sam tilted her head and listened. Something caught her attention and she stared between the trees.

"I see taillights," she whispered. "Here." She pointed out a turnoff that must have been a driveway. She looked around again and pointed to a small, wooden sign that appeared to be very old hanging from a tree on a rusty nail. The long peeled away white paint left the etched numbers stained a vague grey.

"The address matches one on the list," Danny confirmed. "This is it."

"Leave the car out here," Samantha said quietly, still staring through the trees. She heard Danny tell Jack their location.

"Jack said to hold on and just watch until they get here. We can make a strong perimeter with everyone here."

"Just a little closer," Samantha said. "I heard a car door close. Let's see how far in the house is." She started down the path without waiting for a reply. Behind her, Danny swore softly as he jogged back to the car to lock it up. Samantha pushed on.

The dirt driveway curved one way and then the other, circumventing the older, established trees. The gentle down slope ended at a small creek and the drive continued over a rickety one-lane bridge. This was where Samantha waited for Danny. From here, she could see a light turn on in the house but the size and shape of the structure was still hidden behind the trees.

"See anything?" When Danny reached her side, she pressed on.

"Just a light - can't really see . . ." her observation stopped with the sound of shattering glass and they both reached for their guns. "I'll take the back!" Sam snapped.

They closed the distance to the house side by side, splitting apart as they cleared the trees. She heard Danny giving a quick run-down to Jack on the phone as he moved to the front door. When she lost sight of him, Samantha slowed, gun firmly in point position.

She stayed back from the side of the house, outside the reach of the yellow light cast on the ground through the windows. She couldn't see much inside due to the lacy curtains and glided carefully to the rear of the house.

Then she saw the shattered sliding glass door window, Samantha paused. She knew full well that she should wait for cover but an undefined urgency made her step up to the chaos.

The glass had been broken outward. She could see traces of blood spattered on the deck and the larger pieces of glass. Inside the house, she saw a line of blood smeared along the hallway wall, and framed pictures broken on the floor.

Samantha's heart beat wildly. The blood trail on the wall led to a room at the other end. She took a deep breath and steeled herself to enter, but hesitated when she heard someone following the path she'd taken down the side of the house. She backed up to the wall next to the shattered doors and waited, relieved to see Vivian side step into view. For a second, their guns pointed at each other.

Vivian frowned deeply and redirected her weapon skyward at the same time as Samantha, and then quickly moved alongside her teammate.

"You go in," Samantha said hurriedly. "I'm looking out there."

"But Jack said . . ."

Samantha didn't hear the rest because she was already heading for the woods, following the clear, bloody trail in the dirt. She heard Danny announce his presence inside the house just as the trees swallowed her whole.

The blackness was complete within the hold of the trees. Samantha stopped to listen and fish out her flashlight from her coat pocket. She shivered as the cold air caressed her throat when the coat pulled open for a moment. She tugged it closed again while she angled the bright beam to the ground and swept the area. A scuffed trail led from the back door to where she stood, and she was alarmed to find smears of blood on some of the tree trunks. Samantha swallowed hard and followed the rough trail, moving slowly because of the treacherous footing the woody roots presented.

Samantha's breathing evened out with her slower pace. The soft rustle of the leaves infused an eerie feeling to the air that she blamed on her anxiety. The scuffled dirt path told a heartbreaking tale; flat spots marked where her quarry fell over the roots, bone-jarringly hard in some areas. Blood flecked the roots and leaves along the way. The occasional clear print was of a bare foot, which caused her worry. Samantha could tell she was close when there were no more clear prints - instead, dragging lines connected the impressions.

They were running out of steam.

Then the churned path turned sharply and - stopped. Samantha frowned as she studied the abrupt end. She was next to a particularly large tree, its massive roots bumped up from the soil as evenly spaced humps that reminded her of a scaled sea-serpent's back. Playing the light around the tree and finding nothing, Samantha was about to back track when the light caught a flash of color on the trunk. Refocusing her attention, she almost missed the bloody handprint.

Hovering her spread fingers over the print, she saw it was slightly larger than her own and in that moment, she knew whom it was she was trailing.

"Martin!" She called, and then wondered if a woman's voice was something Martin would respond to at the moment. "Martin! It Samantha! Where are you?"

She used the reptile roots as stepping stones around the tree and pushed into the thick, thigh-high shrubs that cozied up behind the tree. Then she saw a light patch under the shrubs and she gasped in surprise.

"Oh my God."

Samantha dropped to her knees and shoved the bushy branches aside. She found Martin curled into a tight ball, covered in blood and dirt, barefoot and wearing only a thin, torn pair of scrub pants against the frigid night.

CHAPTER NINE

His world was very small; a cold, painful existence that centered in his gut. Martin tucked in tight, imagining himself encased in a protective shell that repelled any further hurt. He floated on an ocean, buffeted by wind and swells. Everything swayed and rolled as all levels of pain tried to break through his shell.

He was frozen. He rolled up tighter and groaned as a large swell broke over him, rattling his defenses and making him tremble.

"It's all right, Martin. You're safe now. Everything will be all right."

The voice was soft and familiar. Warm. It didn't belong out here in the middle of all this chaos, so it had to be a trick of his mind; it was so easy, though, to focus on the welcomed familiarity. _Samantha._

"Come on Martin, help's on the way. Can you hear me?"

A soft hand caressed his cheek and he recognized her scent. He pressed his cheek into the warmth, wishing it could his focus, but it had to be a trick of his senses. When she withdrew her hand, he gasped.

"Here. This will help."

Suddenly, warmth draped over his body and he felt Samantha tuck in loose edges of a blanket around his shivering body. His teeth chattered, and he grimaced against his twisting stomach. He almost cried in relief when her warmth returned as she cupped his face with both of her hands. Her thumb brushed his dry lips.

"You'll be okay, Martin, you hear me? Everything will be fine."

Martin allowed himself to accept the words even though his rebelling body made it nearly impossible to think. Pain, both sharp and dull, burned in every part of him. He refused to open his eyes and take the chance that his only comfort could possibly be imagined. He locked onto the balm of her words. The hands disappeared again and he whimpered, tucking his chin to his chest and shivering as her words grew faint.

"We're straight back in the woods, behind the house. My flashlight is on. The EMT's will have to carry him out." Sam's voice was sharp and professional, making Martin think that maybe she was real after all. "I need blankets. He's cold." Pause. "He's breathing, but I'm not sure about the conscious part." The last word sounded strangled. "Just hurry!"

In the vague background of his misery, he heard a click, followed by a sniff and a tiny cough.

"You aren't leaving me, Martin, you hear me?" The words were louder and close to his ear. Then he felt her length against him as she pulled him into her warm arms. "I'm here now. I'm really here. I'll get you through this."

Martin wanted nothing more than to return the embrace, but his body was in a struggle of its own and all he could do was ride the tide using Samantha as his soul's anchor.

Beams of light probed the shadows of the woods and soon Sam could hear voices. She'd propped her flashlight against a humped tree root to act as a beacon, satisfied that they would find her. Holding Martin as close as she could as they both lay on the ground, her main concern was protecting him. She wasn't even sure if he heard her anymore.

"Here they are. We'll have you out of here soon and then you can sleep. Stay with me Martin, okay? Just stay with me."

She cradled his head just under her chin and held him to her body as much as she could. Martin felt like ice. The few warm spots were bloody. His body shuddered in waves, not quite reaching the level of convulsions, but much too close to it for her liking. She heard Jack order someone to lead the EMTs in, and then felt more than saw him drop next to her.

"Sam? How's he doing?" Jack rested one hand on her shoulder and reached out with the other to feel Martin's pulse at his neck.

"He hasn't spoken yet. I don't think he can." Her voice sounded strangled as the words pushed out.

"He's breathing and his pulse is strong," Jack comforted. "Are there any wounds that need pressure?"

"No . . . I don't know. He was just so cold, Jack. He's shivering. There's blood . . ."

She felt Jack move around to Martin's head. It was difficult to maneuver in the brush, but the team leader forced an opening. He lifted an edge of Samantha's jacket that was Martin's blanket and pulled it aside, shining a light in the small space between them. Martin's knees were drawn up tight and his arms folded firmly to his chest.

"I can't see much, but I don't see any pooling blood. His wrist is pretty raw." Jack replaced the jacket, tucked it in again and turned his examination to Martin's feet. "Pretty shredded," he said lowly. "Running through glass will do that."

"Where are the medics?" Sam snapped as she gently rubbed Martin's quaking back.

"They are on their way." As if in response, Sam heard the faint sound of sirens.

"Is she in custody?"

"Yes. Elena and Viv have her. She's not going anywhere."

"Good." Although Martin's breathing was ragged and irregular, the warmth of his breath was reassuring against her chest. Samantha held him tight and murmured words of encouragement right up to the time the medics carried him away.

Samantha wanted Martin whisked away from all this, but in the cold light of reality, it took longer that she liked for the medics to stabilize him for transport. When they finally carried the gurney through the woods, Martin fought the restraints that forced him to lie flat. His guttural pleas for release wrenched her heart - from what little she'd heard, such pleas had been Martin's existence of late. It sickened her to think of it.

* * *

Samantha rode in the ambulance. She didn't ask permission or enter into any debate; she simply followed on the heels of the EMTs right into the vehicle and no one tried to stop her.

That changed in the hospital the moment when she was barred from entering the emergency room. Instead, a clipboard was shoved into her hands and a nurse that had to be related to Gengis Khan directed her to the waiting area. Samantha was surprised that it creeping toward midnight, and called Brian, feeling a tiny bit guilty.

"I'm so sorry," she said into the phone as she paced the waiting room. "Everything okay? How's Finn?"

"He's fine and don't worry. I'm glad to be here, you know that."

"Yeah, I do." As she spoke the words, an uncomfortable feeling edged into her mind. "You're great, you know that?" _But not what I need, _a tiny voice spoke. She was saved any more conversation with the arrival of Jack and Danny. "I've got to go, Brian. I'll be there as soon as I know Martin is okay." She snapped the phone closed without waiting for a response.

Jack veered to Attila's cousin's desk while Danny came to her and gave her a quick hug. "How are you doing?" he asked.

Samantha frowned. "Me? Martin's the one in here." She resisted the urge to slap the knowing smirk on Danny's face. It was a little too close to a look of pity.

"I know that. I also know how you really feel about Martin and how frightening this must be for you."

"Me? And Martin?" She sputtered, flustered and unable to voice a rebuttal.

The condescending grin returned and Danny pulled her toward the cluster of hard, plastic chairs. "'Methinks the lady doth protest too much.'" He pushed her into a chair. "How come we don't use 'doth' anymore?"

"Probably because it sounds so stupid coming from your mouth," she snapped. Looking at Jack, she could tell her boss wasn't too pleased with his encounter, either. Danny's silence finally registered in Samantha's worried brain. When she turned to him, she saw the same ragged, fearful face that she saw on Jack. He gave her a weak smile before scrubbing his cheeks with a tired sigh. "I'm sorry," she said lowly. "I didn't mean . . ."

"It's okay," he replied, and she knew he meant it.

"Where's Felicity?"

"Viv and Elena are processing her. Another team is processing the scene. Everything's under control." He stopped and contemplated his hands. "He looked bad." Danny's voice was nearly a whisper.

"Yeah," Samantha agreed. She looked at her hands and, for the first time, noticed the spots of blood on her sleeves. She distractedly rubbed them with a fingertip.

The shared camaraderie somewhat soothed her jittery nerves and allowed her to think rationally. Did the emotion of this whole affair account for her feelings toward Martin to resurface or were they real? The answer was surprisingly quick and clear, unclouded by recent events. Apparently, Danny had seen it all along. She felt her cheeks flush.

She wanted Martin back. Samantha pushed to her feet just as Jack approached. "What's going on?"

Jack sighed tiredly. "Martin's parents have been notified. Because I said we were the investigators, they'll keep me updated. They've sent out blood samples to see what's in there, but we have a good idea based on what we found at the house. Lots of cuts and bruises and . . ."

"Is he going to be okay?" Samantha demanded.

"He's still being examined, but it looks like Felicity did some surgery of her own. There are some fresh stitches . . ."

"What?" Danny snapped. "Surgery? Removing a kidney kind of surgery?"

"No, it's more superficial than that. Apparently, she cut out the scars from the shooting."

Samantha's stomach flipped and she pressed her fingers to her lips, stifling a gag. She heard Danny swear softly and turn away.

"They are mostly worried about infection. She didn't do too bad of a job, I guess, but they're going to have a plastic surgeon take a look. Some cuts on his feet and arms need stitches, a sprained wrist, bruises. Not as bad as it could have been."

"Can I see him?"

Samantha's question made her boss pause. Jack eyed her for several long moments as if trying to read her mind, and then slowly replied, "Well, I can insist on a guard for now. What about Finn? Is he covered?"

Sam could tell there was more to Jack's verbal concern, but she didn't want to deal with that now. "He's fine. Brian's there. I'll wash up and head in."

She didn't wait for a reply and headed to the closest bathroom. Quickly washing her hands and face, she corralled her hair into a decent pony tail and brushed off her clothes before striding to the emergency room entry. Jack pushed the door open for her and pointed to a curtained off area humming with activity.

Only then, Samantha realized that Martin wasn't the only patient here, but his area had the most activity. She set her jaw and headed purposefully to his cubicle. When she brushed the curtain aside, she paused, shocked by what she saw. Even though Jack had warned her of Martin's injuries, the reality of it was difficult to accept. Sam's gaze took in every detail before she swallowed hard and waited to take her place at his side.

Once there, it felt right.

CHAPTER TEN

Spilling in from the windows at the end of the linoleum hallway, dawns light was only noticeable to Samantha when she blinked awake and saw that the nurse had turned off her desk lamp at the main nurses' station. The second thing she noticed was the tall, steaming cup of coffee in the nurse's hand. Samantha's nose twitched and she contemplated theft.

Her life of crime was cut short when the annoyingly chipper form of Danny waltzed into the room, the only thing saving him from being put out of Sam's misery being the two cups of coffee and bakery bag he bore.

He paused. "It's already been established that Sleeping Beauty you ain't," he quipped as his gaze raked Sam's slumped form sprawled in the torturous plastic hospital chair.

"That," she said nodding at the coffee, "is the only reason you're still alive."

Danny chuckled and, after surrendering the booty, turned a somber eye to the miserable form curled under the thin hospital blanket. Martin had twitched at the sound of Danny's arrival, but there was no further motion after that except for his ragged breathing. The blankets shuddered rhythmically. A single IV line drooped over the far edge of the bed.

Samantha rubbed her eyes and felt every second of lost sleep. The pair sipped their coffee in tumultuous silence and studied their colleague. The team had the latest updated on Martin's condition so there was no reason for discussion. Samantha wanted a vastly different kind of discussion, but only with Martin. She would just have to wait for now.

"I need to call Brian," she muttered. "See how Finn's doing and get the day arranged."

Danny nodded and moved closer to the bed as Samantha slipped from the room. He peered down at Martin's face and saw the telltale lines of pain around his eyes and mouth even in sleep. As he watched, his friend's breathing changed and his eyes jerked beneath pale eyelids. Martin became frantic in his twitching.

"Martin?" Danny called softly before reaching down and gently shaking his shoulder. Martin's breathing hitched and his body tensed suddenly. "Hey, Marty - wake up, man!"

With a gasp, Martin's eyes flew open and he struggled to sit. Danny abandoned his coffee on the bedside table and held Martin down with both hands. Martin blinked rapidly, panting, and then locked gazes with his teammate, looking clearly confused and entirely startled.

"You're okay now, Martin. You're in the hospital." Danny waited until the tenseness drained away under his hands. "You okay now?"

Martin stared at him for a moment before nodding shakily. He groaned as he sank back into the mattress and dragged a trembling hand over his eyes. "God, it hurts."

"I can only imagine. You're cut up pretty good." Danny retrieved his cup and stood quietly while his friend pulled himself together.

"No," Martin said, his voice raspy. "The other. My gut. I didn't want it, Danny. She just gave it to me. I don't want to go through that again. I didn't want it." He curled on his side and wouldn't meet Danny's eyes, sounding like he was trying to convince himself as well as Danny. Clearly, Martin wasn't talking about his visible wounds or his imprisonment; this was about the drugs Felicity had forced on him.

"We know you didn't want them," Danny replied softly. "There's no reason to be ashamed, Martin. You had no control." Inwardly, Danny was a little alarmed that Martin blamed himself for any of what happened to him.

There was a long pause where Martin's heavy breathing was the only noise in the room. Danny could tell he was trying to manage his pain. When he spoke again, Danny had to lean over to hear.

"I'm in a bad place, Danny. I was in a bad place when she took me. I . . ." Martin grimaced. He squeezed his eyes closed and sucked air between his teeth as he rode out a cramp.

Danny reached for the nurse's call button. "You need something . . ."

Martin's hand moved surprisingly fast as he stopped Danny. "No, don't."

"It doesn't have to been addicting. Tylenol or something like that."

"No. Nothing. Please. I don't want it."

Danny nodded and stepped back, waiting for Martin to gather his wits again. Marin rolled to his side with his back to Danny and curled slightly, careful of the thick bandages around his torso and the I.V. tether.

Danny turned when Samantha entered the room and she instantly read the concern in his face.

"I heard you talking. Is he awake?" She glanced at the bed.

"Yes, he's awake," Martin grumbled, his weak voice muffled from the pillow.

Samantha immediately moved to the bed and dropped the side rail. She leaned over, speaking softly with one hand on Martin's shoulder while she gently combed through his short hair with the fingers of her other hand.

Surprised at the intimate posture, Danny suddenly felt like an intruder. He wondered if he should tell her what Martin said. Instead, he smiled when he heard Martin gruffly replying to Sam's queries - Danny couldn't hear the words, but recognized an interrogation when he heard one. A mom rather than an F.B.I. investigator, though, was running this one - he could tell by the tone. It made him smile and he made a decision.

Feeling wise, Danny tiptoed from the room and silently closed the door. He waved off the nurse heading for the room and asked her to give Martin a few minutes. She grudgingly agreed and moved on to the next room. Satisfied, Danny turned to leave and bumped into Jack.

Juggling his coffee cup with an exasperated gasp, Jack quickly got the cup under control and then gave Danny a sharp look. "Well?" he demanded. "How's he doing?" Danny laid a hand on Jack's shoulder and turned him back around. Jack glanced back over his shoulder to Martin's room. "He asleep?"

"No, but he's in good hands." Danny explained, grinning. "He's gonna be okay."

* * *

Samantha sat quietly on the edge of Martin's bed, gently stroking his temple. It felt incredibly soothing and it was a welcomed distraction from the painful cramps. When his stomach finally quieted, he exhaled deeply and his body relaxed. He felt clammy and his numerous cuts throbbed, but that was tolerable

"Are they getting any better?" Samantha asked softly.

"N . . . not really sure," he whispered, closing his eyes in response to her caress. "M'head's not real clear yet."

"You'll be okay soon."

"Glad one of us thinks so."

Sam's quiet chuckle did more for him that any drug. Her rhythmic stroke through his hair was incredibly soothing. The pain of his wounds faded away and he hovered in a safe, comforting place, wishing to stay there until this was all over.

Martin's thoughts drifted back through recent years in search of what went wrong. How did he get on the path that brought him here? When did that fork in the trail happen, and why did he take the turn he did? Scenes of his life played silently in his head, starting with his arrival in New York and the feeling that hit him when he'd first seen Samantha in the bullpen.

She was always there as he mentally moved forward, always nearby either physically or in his thoughts. Martin followed the trail of his history and realized she was simply a part of his life from the star of his life here. They both had grown a lot since that day - a silly thing, he realized, since they were both adults, but it was true. Having to live with hard choices did that to a person.

Right now, in these peaceful minutes, Martin knew he'd come full circle. Her fingers felt right on his skin. Familiar. Calming. He compared her touch to Kim's - even before the betrayal, Kim's touch was never like this.

At this moment, Samantha's touch felt completely natural. She knew him like no other. Accepting that, Martin knew he'd just stepped on to another path, one not without its own obstacles and he no longer felt lost. Willingly leaving the cloying numbness of his safe place, Martin forced his eyes open and twisted his head aside, stopping when he met Samantha's worried gaze.

He fumbled and captured her hand in his, holding tight as he looked for encouragement in her eyes. The relief he felt when he found it overwhelmed him.

"Sam?" he croaked.

"What?" she replied, becoming still.

"Don't leave? Don't leave again, okay? Stay with me."

Samantha' brown eyes glistened with tears and her soft lips quivered into a tiny smile. "Okay," she breathed. "I'll stay."

Holding her hand in a sure grip, Martin pulled Samantha's arm down and wrapped it across his chest so she could feel his heartbeat. He felt the mattress shift as she stretched down alongside him, and felt her warmth when she snuggling close against his back. Samantha wormed her other arm under him and hugged him close, her cheek resting on the back of his neck. Martin sighed deeply, naturally accepting the medicine of her body; pain slipped away.

"I'm not going anywhere," she promised.

This time, he knew it to be true.

FIN 


	2. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

The sidewalks were remarkably clear for mid December in New York City. Darkened drifts were shiny as the day's melt froze like icing on the slumped mounds. Martin was glad the center walkway was mostly dry; he was also glad to be rid of the cane he'd been using until the numerous cuts on the bottom of his feet were no longer tender. As he walked alongside Samantha – wearing hard soled shoes for the first time in awhile - he could still feel the tug of fresh scar tissue on his abdomen. The distraction was easy enough to ignore.

Sam pushed a sturdy pram and leaned forward to adjust the blanket that swaddled her son. "Stop it, Finn," she ordered in a sing-song voice. "Can't you just leave the blanket alone?" The request resulted in a playful squeal and mostly toothless smile.

"Some scolding that is," Martin chuckled. "You're just inviting him to play, talking like that."

Samantha straightened and snorted. "Like you would know, Mr. Bachelor."

"That's Uncle Bachelor to you, young lady," he chided. Raising one eyebrow, he leaned in and wiggled a finger at the chortling Finn. "And you, young man, are taking advantage of your mother."

Samantha's relaxed laugh warmed Martin and he reached over and took her hand.

"Hey," she protested. "I can't drive this thing with one hand."

It was true. In fact, she didn't do a very good job with two hands, either, Martin quickly pointed out. He ended up with an elbow in his side and thankful for his layers of winter clothing. He laughed and held his hands up in surrender. Samantha pursed her lips and returned both hands to the stroller and Martin opted to wrap an arm around her shoulders instead. By the way she sighed and rested her head on his shoulder for a moment, he knew it was acceptable.

"So Brian's all moved into his place?" Martin asked as the walked.

"Yup." She glanced at him. "Honestly? I think I'm gonna miss the adult company."

"Really?" Martin said. "Will, I think that can be taken care of. When's he picking up Finn on Saturday for their first play date weekend?" Martin asked as they walked.

Samantha chuckled. "'Play date'. Funny. He's coming by around nine. Why?"

Martin gave her a sidelong look that sparkled with amusement. "You're awfully nosy."

"Comes with the job. You know that. So? Why?"

Martin smiled broadly and slowly shook his head. "You'll just have to wait and see," he teased.

When they rounded the corner, Martin had to press against Samantha to allow a jogger to pass. There was more foot traffic here, along with a small cluster of people that huffed into their hands and stomped their feet waiting at the bus stop. Martin guided her around the obstacles while Samantha playfully scolded Finn and again fixed the rumpled blanket. Halfway down the block, they stopped.

"Meet you here in an hour?" Samantha asked, turning to face Martin and standing well within his personal zone. He circled her waist with his arms. "Or in the bookstore over there?" She nodded across the street, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck.

"Bookstore," Martin replied just before he kissed her nose. "No need to stand out in the cold, especially since the little guy isn't being very cooperative about staying covered up." He smiled and leaned around Samantha, ticking the baby's feet as he spoke.

Finn laughed and kicked. The blanket flew off.

"Well, you're a big help," Samantha grumbled unconvincingly, and then her voice turned soft and serious. She sought out his eyes and caught his gaze. "You okay? It's been awhile."

"I'm fine. I need this." He captured a kiss. "And that."

She held up a finger between their faces. "One hour."

After a moment, she circled is neck again and instigated another kiss. Martin intended it to be a quick peck, but the warmth and taste of her lips made him groan and close his eyes. He pressed harder and tried to draw her against his chest to deepen the kiss, but she gave just a little, teasing him, before abruptly pushing back.

"Keep that up and you're going to be late." Her voice was soft and husky, and her cheeks flushed.

Martin reluctantly released her. "Yeah," he said, glancing at the doorway behind him with a sigh. "I've been gone too long already." He stepped back and let his arm trail across her waist and along her outstretched arm, pausing to keep their fingertips joined seconds longer.

The smile she gave him was all the encouragement he needed. "I'll be here," she said quietly.

"I know," he acknowledged.

They parted and Martin watched her cross the street. When she was safely on the other side, she briefly turned and waved at him. He waved back and grinned when Samantha's attention refocused on the wayward blanket one more time before disappearing into the bookstore.

Martin turned and pushed open the door, standing aside and nodding an acknowledgement to a departing man. Once inside, he walked quickly down the hallway and slipped through a set of double doors at the other end. The people inside the room were just being called to order and Martin slipped into a seat in the front row.

He caught the eye of the man behind the podium and received a welcoming grin. After the man called the room to order, he motioned for Martin to come forward.

It had been a while. _Too long,_ Martin admitted to himself as he stepped behind the podium and swallowed hard to settle the flutter in his stomach. He looked out to the group, cleared his throat, and spoke with the confidence that came with walking a welcomed new path.

"My name is Martin and I'm an addict," he began.

For the first time in a long time, everything felt right and his path was very clear.


End file.
